


AFTERMATH - FOUR

by T Roubles (DustyP)



Category: The A Team (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustyP/pseuds/T%20Roubles
Summary: FINAL CHAPTER OF AFTERMATHSequel to Outrage
Relationships: Hannibal/Face
Kudos: 1





	AFTERMATH - FOUR

AFTERMATH - FINAL CHAPTER (4)

Late that same afternoon, the Team were back at the cabin, trying to relax, without much success. After numerous telephone calls to the city and handing over responsibility for the gangsters to some of Ed Maloney’s trusted officers, they’d come back to the cabin to pack and leave. They were all so tired, however, Hannibal decided they could risk staying one more night just to unwind.  
Petersen was, apparently, still hanging on, though the paramedics who’d arrived with the ambulance hadn’t held out much hope of his surviving long.  
Knowing the man, none of the Team would be willing to bet any real money on that fact.  
They’d seen the evil man slide out from too many other situations to believe he was dead, until they saw him put in the ground.  
They were all suffering from a sense of anticlimax, unable to relax. Things had been happening so quickly, they each felt as though they should be doing 'something'. The thought uppermost in all their minds was Face's reaction to the most recent events. The Team knew, from the state in which they'd found him, that he'd obviously been the victim of a serious sexual assault and probably raped by Petersen, but they didn't want to think about it.  
Face hadn't, as yet, said a word about what had happened prior to their finding him and they hadn't liked to press the point. They acknowledged that if he wanted to talk about anything, he would, in due time. If he didn't, no amount of persuasion, or sympathetic support would work.  
The first thing he'd wanted to do when they got back to their cabin was take a shower.   
Taking off the Da Nang Tiger jacket, he’d held it out for Murdock to take from him.  
”Thanks for the loan, Murdock. It felt nice and warm...”   
He meant more than insulation, the familiar jacket had comforted him while he waited for the Colonel to take him home.  
Murdock smiled through damp eyes, his fingers brushing Peck’s as he’d taken back his jacket.  
“You are very welcome, Muchacho, any time...”  
Face managed a small smile, then allowed Hannibal to lead him into the bathroom where his commander peeled off the torn and dirty jeans before guiding him into the cubicle. Face had been unwilling for Hannibal to join him, as he'd been used to doing and Smith had reluctantly stayed outside the shower. He'd remained in the bathroom however, worried in case his lover slipped. While undressing his second, he'd noticed that the marks of hard fingers he'd seen earlier had darkened into bruises, the deepest being around his hips, buttocks and upper thighs and his heart had filled with rage and sorrow at this latest suffering, which wouldn't help Face's recovery, at all.  
He'd watched the outline of his beloved through the curtain as Face had slowly scrubbed every inch of his body. When he'd finished, Hannibal had turned off the shower and enveloped him in a warmed bath sheet, trying not to notice the tears of an inward pain brimming the long-lashed eyes.  
Murdock had brought in some fresh underwear and Face had gratefully pulled on clean shorts, then into the only wearable pair of jeans he had left from his sparse wardrobe, completing the miss-matched outfit with one of Hannibal's black t-shirts and his own Reebok trainers.  
Hannibal had intended to put him to bed, knowing that his lover was exhausted, but Face shook his head, indicating he wanted to stay with the others. They all understood he was feeling very vulnerable and needed to know they were there, so Hannibal brought him into the main room.   
Weariness, and the after effects of the drugs had caught up with him, however, and he'd fallen asleep in an armchair. Hannibal moved him carefully to the couch where he stretched out with a deep sigh and snuggled under the blanket his Colonel placed gently over him.  
It was dusk by the time they'd each taken their turn in the shower, eaten a hurriedly cooked meal and were now sitting around the fireplace, warm, clean and dry, but not much easier in mind.  
They didn't want to go over the events of the past few days, but found themselves discussing what would happen when Maddox went to trial.   
"Do you think that Maloney has enough evidence this time, to put him away?" asked Murdock quietly, throwing a worried glance towards the couch.  
Smith shrugged. "He thought he had enough the last time," he said cynically. "It's not as though we can testify, that might make a difference." He paused, stretching to ease the tension in his back and shoulders. "But Maddox has broken the terms of his bail and if Maloney can get some of those guys who attacked us to turn State's evidence, Mr. Maddox could be looking at a long stay in jail."  
He looked across at B.A. who was rummaging through the bag he'd brought from the house, and tensed again. "What're you doing B.A?" His voice was sharper than he intended and caused his two men to look at him in surprise.  
"Thought there might be something in here..."  
"Right, of course. Those address books and codes might just do the trick - for Petersen at any rate." He held out his hand and Baracus handed the bag over.  
Smith pulled out the books and put them to one side, the reels of film and the video tapes, however he packed back into the bag and put it on the floor beside him.  
Looking up he found two pairs of brown eyes watching him curiously and raised an innocent eyebrow.  
"What's up, Colonel?" asked Murdock softly.  
"Nothing," replied Smith, getting up to search for a cigar from his gear.  
"Don't try and con us, Hannibal. Something's going on that we don't know about." The pilot paused and looked hurt. "Don't you trust us all of a sudden?"  
“Of course I do, Murdock.” Smith paused, head bent, then making up his mind, said simply. "I want to check those tapes before handing them over to Maloney."  
"What for?" asked B.A. a frown furring his brow. "Can't have anything to do with us, we only just found the house."  
"True...but we don't know what went on there, before we arrived," said Smith softly, his eyes bleak with remembered sorrow. "I just want to be sure that..." he glanced across at his lieutenant, "that..."  
Murdock's eyes widened as he realised where this was heading. "Oh my God. You don't think that... that scum... taped... anything?"  
"It's possible Murdock. I wouldn't put anything past that piece of shit." He still couldn't bring himself to tell them about the earlier tape he'd destroyed.   
From the expressions on his comrades' faces, just thinking of the possibility was bad enough for them. Knowing what he'd seen, would only cause them more distress. He wished he hadn't seen the damn tape either, but he had, and was dealing with it the best he could.  
Baracus cleared his throat, then asked reluctantly. "You want me to check 'em, Hannibal?"  
Smith's heart lifted, just a little, at the question. He knew that his sergeant didn't want the job but was trying to save him further distress in case there was anything on the tapes concerning his beloved lieutenant.  
"Thanks, B.A. But I'll do it." he paused, biting hard on the cigar he'd just found. "I need to do it," he added softly.  
Baracus nodded, relief evident in his dark eyes. He didn't want to think about what had happened to his friend and certainly didn't want to watch it happening on film.  
"I'll help you Hannibal," said Murdock quietly.   
As Smith stared to shake his head, the pilot added. "Nothing that I can see on that tape is worse than my imagination. I have to know..." he choked and turned his head.  
Smith was silent. He didn't want anyone else to see what may be on those tapes, but he also knew that Murdock would worry himself into a deep depression just imagining what had happened. If he could see and get rid of the anger, then it was a necessary evil.  
"I'll think abut it, Captain." He looked across at his sleeping lover. "But whatever we find, it stays just with us. Logically, I know it's an invasion of his privacy, but he has enough on his plate at the moment."  
Murdock nodded mutely, tears gathering in his eyes, which he blinked furiously away. He would try and be strong for both his Colonel and his best friend.  
Not having a projector, or a VCR, at the cabin, they would have to take the bag back to LA.   
Having decided to start out for home early next morning, the Team settled down for the rest of the night.   
Saying a soft 'Goodnight', Murdock went to the room he was sharing with B.A. leaving the Colonel and B.A. to settle Face.  
BA carefully picked up the still sleeping man, and without waking him, carried him into the bedroom he shared with the Colonel before going to his own room. There, he found Murdock staring at the ceiling. Neither man spoke as BA pulled off his outer clothes and got into the other twin bed.   
It was a long time before either man finally closed his eyes.  
Hannibal yawned tiredly as he got ready for bed, too tired to do more than strip down to his underwear before slipping into the double bed beside his lover. He debated doing the same for Face, but not wishing to wake him, left him as he was, just unloosening the belt on his jeans and taking off his trainers.  
The shower had relieved some the aches and pains from his fight with Petersen, but he still felt bruised and tender, and had a bad headache from the blow from Maddox's gunbutt. All in all though, he was grateful they were all alive and hopefully on their way home to a better future, without the threat of Maddox and Petersen hanging over their heads.

The early light of dawn saw the cabin's occupants awake and preparing to leave. Despite their tiredness, none of them had slept well, they were all anxious to leave this place and go home.   
Breakfast and packing didn't take long and with the four men in their customary seats, the black van, which had survived the explosion without a scratch, pulled away from the lakeside.

The trip back to LA was uneventful, much to everyone's relief. They should've been relieved that the men who'd caused them so much grief were in custody, but they couldn't forget, or forgive, what Maddox and Petersen had done; nor did they have much faith in the fact that the men were now behind bars. Petersen, especially, had shown that he was more slippery than the proverbial eel and might just yet recover. The sense of something hanging over them was still evident in the strained expressions of all four men.  
Face sat in his usual seat behind Hannibal, exhausted and still feeling rather out of things, unconnected to reality, the drugs he’d been forcibly given being the probable cause, but knowing this didn’t really help him at the moment. Although he hadn’t been conscious when Petersen had brutally violated him, his body still felt bruised and sore inwardly as well as outwardly, and somehow he knew, on a subconscious level, what had happened. Added to these lesser, but none the less traumatic problems, was the fact he was still blind; there had been no miracle breakthrough once he knew Petersen was badly injured and Maddox on his way to a long jail sentence.  
Murdock, sitting beside his friend, kept glancing over at the seemingly relaxed figure, hoping he could be of some assistance, with what he didn't know, he just ached to help the lieutenant - he couldn't even think of anything amusing to help break the tension that radiated inside the van.  
B.A. kept his eyes on the road, glad that he had something positive to do; he felt as helpless as he had when they'd first found Face in that beach side bungalow. He wanted to pound something, or especially someone, but even that was denied him now. He concentrated on the growing traffic, fists clenched around the wheel, a scowl on his face... compassion in his heart for his friends.  
Smith, cigar in his mouth, eyes hooded against the rising smoke, was slumped in the front passenger seat. He'd remembered to tell Face he was going to light up and had received a listless nod from the blond head of his second.  
The other two had looked their surprise, but neither Hannibal nor Face had enlightened them. It was still too raw - both for Smith to realise what he'd unintentionally put his lover through and for Face to acknowledge the fear that still rose up when he smelt smoke.  
Hannibal was dreading what was to come. He knew he had to check the tapes and films, but just wanted to burn them without looking. If it wasn't for the fact that there might be some evidence on the tapes that would help Maloney nail the sick bastards, he would've done just that.  
He also knew he would have to persuade Face to go back to see Simon Pierce. It was obvious that the realisation that his ordeal was over hadn't helped Face's sight to return. That had made Smith fear there might be some other reason for his lover's blindness. He didn't want to think about any other reason, anything that might take Face away from him, was just not to be borne.  
So it was a sombre and weary journey for them all.

Almost a week later, Smith was standing by the large picture window which dominated one wall of the beach-side house he’d acquired when they’d finally got back to LA. The Colonel had rented it out for a month in order to give the Team a break from the events of the past hectic days. He’d used one of the many identities that Face had set up for him, and although it had worked perfectly, the fun had gone out of it for Hannibal, as Face wasn’t by his side, offering his usual support.  
He’d chosen the house with care: it was far enough away from the nearest dwelling for privacy, yet close enough to the main road in case they had to leave in a hurry.  
Face liked the sound of the surf and sat for hours on the veranda which ran across the full front of the house; sometimes sunbathing, clad only in shorts; other times retreating to the shady part to listen to some of his favourite pieces of music.  
Although the Team were feeling more physically rested, they still felt jumpy.   
Murdock had opted to stay with his friends instead of escaping back to the safety of the VA and Baracus too, had stayed in the house; thus proving to his colleagues how uneasy he still felt about them being apart. B.A. was a great believer in strength in numbers.  
The bag of films and tapes were still locked in a cupboard in the master bedroom, which Smith and Face shared. The Colonel hadn’t felt ready yet to face whatever was on them; he was thankful that Murdock had never asked about them since the cabin.   
One thing for which the Colonel had reason to feel grateful, was that Face, despite everything that Petersen had done to him, still wanted Hannibal to share his bed. He’d never even hinted that he wanted to be alone, so although they’d never made physical love since their return to LA, Hannibal slept next to his younger lover, arms wrapped protectively around him, soothing him from the nightmares which continued to plague his sleep.   
Although Hannibal wanted desperately to resume intimate sexual relations with his beloved partner, he felt he hadn’t the right to be with his lieutenant. Believed in fact, that he’d let Face down by not getting to him quickly enough to stop Petersen’s repeated assaults. Face hadn’t said a word about Hannibal’s reluctance to make love to him, which worried the Colonel a lot, but as he didn’t want to hurt the younger man by mentioning a subject that had to bring back painful memories, he’d allowed his guilt to keep him from talking about his fears.   
In fact, Face was bewildered; he had picked up on Smith’s reticence to resume the physical side of their relationship, but had thought it was because of what Petersen had done to him in that house. He could remember quite a lot of what happened there; struggling with Petersen in the chair; his abortive escape attempt and being chained to the bed and the needle sliding into his flesh - then nothing on a conscious level until his friends had arrived.   
He felt quite distressed, that after all they’d been through, to lose what he valued most, his Colonel’s love and respect, was the last straw. His only comfort was the fact that Hannibal seemed willing to sleep beside him, even hold him in his arms.....but oh, how he wished for more.  
He tried not to show how hurt he was; after all they’d all come through an exhausting time, both emotionally and physically, so for part of every day, he lay in the shade and listened to his music through the earphones, hoping it would drown out the turmoil in his heart.   
Petersen was still hanging on in the Intensive Care ward of the General hospital, and this seemed to the Team like the Sword of Damocles hanging over their heads. Ed Maloney was keeping in touch by telephone, letting them know what was happening. He never rang from his office, always using a public phone and Hannibal had never felt more grateful to a policeman than he did to that gruff- voiced police inspector.  
The phone rang and Smith turned from watching his lieutenant sleeping outside in the shade, to answer it. The caller was Maggie Sullivan.  
"Hello Maggie," the Colonel's voice was quiet.  
"How're things Hannibal?" she asked briskly, sensing that her friend wasn't in the mood to talk.  
"Oh, not so bad, Maggie." Smith rubbed his forehead. "I think we're all just coasting along at the moment."  
"That's to be expected," said Maggie compassionately. "You've all had a rough time lately."  
"Yeah," agreed Hannibal.  
"How's Face?"  
"He's asleep on the veranda at the moment," said Hannibal turning to look outside again.  
"I mean...how IS he?"  
"Okay, I suppose. He doesn't say much. His sight hasn't come back."   
Doctor Sullivan could hear the frustration in the Colonel's tone.  
"I'm so sorry Hannibal," she said softly.  
"I know, Doc...I know..." he paused. "I want him to go back and see Simon Pierce, but I don't think he's quite ready for that yet."  
"Try and make it soon, Hannibal...Simon's really good at his job..."  
"Yeah...I know..."  
There was an awkward pause, then Smith rallied a little. "How's the new partner coming along?"  
"Walt? Oh he's doing fine," replied Maggie. "He's taken a lot of work off my hands, best thing I ever did in some time."  
Smith smiled slightly, feeling a bit ambivalent about Walter. Since the Team had been away, Maggie had made up her mind and asked Walt to be a partner, and things seemed to be working out for her in that respect. Hannibal didn't know whether to feel relieved, or jealous. A bit of both, if he were honest.  
He tensed suddenly as he heard the sound of a vehicle being driven noisily along the beach.  
"Gotta go, Maggie. Catch you later..."  
"Hannibal, what's wrong?" But her only answer was the empty buzz of a disconnected line.  
Smith had gone outside and was standing guard over his partner, while out of the corner of his eye he saw the lean form of Murdock standing at the corner of the house, and knew without looking that BA was crouched under the railing of the veranda, both armed and alert.  
The vehicle turned out to be a sand buggy being driven erratically by a couple of young men, barely out of their teens, but none of the Team relaxed until it had disappeared behind a rocky outcrop further along the beach.  
"Relax Hannibal," came Peck's quiet voice. "They've gone."  
Hannibal turned in surprise and became aware that although Peck's eyes were closed, his partner was wide awake. "How long have you been awake?" he asked, almost accusingly.  
A faint grin tugged at the corners of his lover's sensual mouth. "The phone woke me up," he confessed.  
Hannibal crouched down beside the sun-lounger and put a hand on Face's bare shoulder. "How're you doin'?" he asked softly.  
The shoulder shrugged under his hand. "Okay. Feel less tired now..."  
There was a pause as both men hesitated, wanting to talk, but not knowing how to start, then Face swung his legs to one side and sat upright, bringing their heads on a level.  
"What d'you want us to do, Hannibal? Got a plan?" It was asked quite seriously, although accompanied by a faint smile  
"I'm not sure, Face. I think we've all been in limbo for the past week, we really ought to get going again." He hesitated. "I think you and me should go back and see Doc Pierce."   
He held his breath as he saw the younger man's features tense and a stubborn line replaced the smile.  
"What good will that do, Hannibal. I still can't see and..."  
"Shush now," Hannibal said, placing a gentle hand over the quivering lips. "I think he's a good man Face and will do his best to help you - help us."  
Face put his fingers over Smith’s and mumbled through them. “What’s wrong, Hannibal? What have I done?” He flushed, he hadn’t meant to ask that, but his inner misery boiled over and overruled his pride.  
Hannibal didn’t pretend not to understand. “You haven’t done anything, Face. It’s just..just..” he rubbed his brow, reluctantly pulling his hand away from Face’s shoulder.  
Face asked “Just what?” He paused, then went on bravely. “Things haven’t been right between us since we left that horrible house...is it something to do with what happened there?”  
Hannibal shrugged, forgetting that his partner couldn’t see the gesture. “In a way...” he replied.  
Face shrank into himself. “Oh,” he said faintly. Half expecting that answer, he was still shattered. After all they’d been through, Hannibal couldn’t accept this latest assault.  
He rallied a little. “Looks like that bastard Petersen has won after all,” he said bitterly.   
He was trembling. He’d decided a long time ago, not to cling on when Hannibal wanted to leave, that way they’d both have some dignity, but to come at this time, when he needed his Colonel’s love and support more than ever, was a cruel blow.  
Smith frowned. “Petersen hasn’t won anything, Face. What’d’you mean?”  
Face shrugged. “It’s obvious isn’t it? Although I can’t remember everything that happened at that house...there are some blank patches,” he paused, then added. “Whatever he did to me must’ve been rough on you...maybe like the last straw?” He shook his head. “I can’t blame you.”   
“Blame me?” Smith was getting deeper into the fog.   
“Let’s not drag it out any further, Hannibal. I decided, when we first became lovers, that I would never play the clinging vine when you wanted to leave...”  
“Who said I wanted to leave?” cried Hannibal in alarm.  
That brought Face up short. “Don’t you?” Despite himself, there was a hopeful note in his voice.  
“NO! Of course not.” Hannibal was genuinely surprised.  
Face was confused, but felt a weight lift off his heart. “Well, what’s the matter then?” He twisted his fingers together. “You’ve been so stand-offish since we got back from the Lake. I thought...that...that what...happened there meant you were having second thoughts about staying with me....” He finished all in a rush, trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve.  
Smith was silently berating himself for his stupidity. He’d been so immersed in his own guilt, he hadn’t realised how his behaviour might seem to his lover, who was bound to be feeling extra vulnerable.  
He rose from his half crouch to sit beside Face on the lounger. Putting an arm around his bare shoulders, he said firmly. “The only second thoughts I’ve been having is whether you can still trust me?”  
“Trust you?” Face was even more confused. “Why on earth shouldn’t I trust you? I’ve known you for more than half my life, we’ve been friends for years, as well as lovers... I’ve always trusted you.”  
Hannibal hugged him. “Thanks for that, Face.” He paused, then went on slowly. “But I haven’t done so well lately - I couldn’t stop Petersen from taking you to that house - or prevent what happened there.” He gulped as Face shivered. “I’m sorry, my love. I just feel so useless, I don’t think I have the right to be with you... much as I want to be.”  
Face gave a huge sigh, part relief, part exasperation. “Hannibal, you’re an idiot. Have I ever told you that?”  
“Not recently,” Hannibal gave a tremulous grin.  
“I’m not so naive to think you can be with me every second, although that would be great,” he added, snuggling closer into his partner’s side. “What happened at that house wasn’t in any way, your fault.” He shuddered, “Petersen is a devil in human form, Hannibal and got lucky.”  
“Yeah, well his luck ran out when Maddox shot him.”  
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fella,” said Peck with unusual vindictiveness.  
There was silence between the two lovers, then Hannibal sighed again. “I still feel as though I should DO something, Face, I just don’t know what.”  
“I know what you mean,” said Face slowly. “I seem to be waiting, but I don’t know why, or what I’m waiting for,” he paused. “Maybe I’m hoping that my vision will come back just as quickly as it went.” His voice trembled a little, then he coughed and shook his head. “Nice pipe dream, but it isn’t gonna happen.”  
Hannibal hugged him tighter. “Don’t give up on yourself, Tem, your sight will come back, I’m sure it will.”  
Face smiled a little grimly. “You almost believe that, don’t you Hannibal?”  
“Hey,” Smith tipped his lieutenant’s chin upward, kissing him on the lips. “I do believe it, and you must too.”  
Face didn’t reply. He didn’t believe in fairy tales and knew that Hannibal didn’t either.  
Worried, Hannibal stroked his partner’s fair hair, not knowing what to say to reassure him. He still had to believe that Face’s sight would return, but as the days passed with no improvement, he felt trapped and angry, knowing it was illogical to rail against something that was beyond his control to fix.   
Murdock bounced up onto the veranda, startling his two friends. “Anyone hungry?”  
“No thanks...” came the reply in unison, making all three men smile.  
“Well, that was in stereo, so I guess I can forget about food,” grinned Murdock.  
His brown eyes, however, were anxious when he looked at Smith. “Can I do anything else for you, Face - and Colonel?”  
“Not really Murdock, thanks all the same,” came Peck’s swift reply. He smiled. “Think I’ll catch some more sun, if that’s okay?”  
“Sure Face, whatever you...?”  
The pilot halted - they all knew what their blond friend really wanted.  
“Don’t worry about it, Murdock,” Peck held out his hand to his long-time friend. “None of this is your fault, remember that.”  
“I know...but...” Murdock’s voice was shaky, but his grip was warm.  
“No buts,” said Peck firmly.  
“I’ll try, Facie, I’ll try...”  
“Good.” Peck swung his legs back up onto the lounger. “Now go and get your food, and stop worrying.” He fumbled for his earphones and lay back to listen to the music.  
Smith patted his bare leg then stood up, motioning for Murdock to come with him.  
“Let’s leave him for now, Captain,” he said in a low voice. “He knows how much we care about him. There’s nothing we can say that he doesn’t already know.”  
“I feel so damn helpless, Hannibal,” said Murdock, moving into the house at Smith’s side.  
“We all do, Murdock. It’s not a battle we can fight with any of our skills.” He sighed, “and I haven’t done too well even in that respect.”  
“I heard what you were saying, Hannibal,” he paused, flushing awkwardly. “Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but ...”  
Smith reddened with embarrassment, he didn’t normally like his private thoughts being overheard, but this was ‘family’.  
“I know Murdock...”  
“But you have nothing to feel guilty about. Face is right. Petersen is responsible for what happened to him, not you...and certainly not Face.”  
“That bastard has a lot to answer for, I hope old Satan has the pitchforks nice and hot.”  
Murdock’s smile was hard-edged and without humour. “Yeah, and knows exactly where to put ‘em!”  
In complete accord, the two men went about the mundane tasks of getting themselves and BA fed.

A mile away down the sandy beach, the sand buggy was parked beside one of the pay phones which were dotted every few miles along the beach road. The elder of the two young men, was talking excitedly into the receiver. “Yes, Uncle Tony, I’m telling you that I think I’ve found those four guys you were talking about. No, I’m not lying,” he said raising his eyes to his friend who was sitting on the railing smoking a cigarette. “I saw a couple of ‘em when me and Brad were going past this house in Horseshoe Cove... a big black guy with a lot of gold and a tall man with silver hair. There were two others but I didn’t get a good look at them...” he paused, listening to the hard voice on the other end of the phone... “Okay, we’ll meet you at the junction to Orange Tree Road...”  
He put the phone down and turned to his friend. “We’re gonna have some fun now...”  
Brad raised a black eyebrow. He was a stocky young man with pock-marked skin and a perpetual sneer twisting thin lips. “Your Uncle Tony coming down here?” he asked.  
“Yeah,” Joseph Marcellino jumped up to sit beside his friend on the rail and flipped a cigarette from a crumpled packet. “Lucky I heard him talking on the phone to one of his contacts...these four guys have a price on their heads, Brad. We’re gonna make some big bucks, ma man...”  
“Great. I could do with some of the green,” said Brad, trying to blow a smoke ring and failing.  
He got off the railing. “Hey, come on, let’s drive.” He jumped down to the sand and climbed into the dune buggy; switching on the engine, he revved it hard until Joe got in beside him, and with a whoop and a swirl of sand, they were off back along the beach.  
As they passed the beach house again, Brad slowed so they could take a longer look at the house, but apart from someone lying sunbathing on the veranda, they couldn’t see any of the men they’d glimpsed before.  
Although they couldn’t see him, BA was standing beside his van, which was parked under an awning at one side of the house; he’d heard the sound of the over-revved motor while he was working on his engine. Putting down the spanner, he’d drawn his gun and moved silently into the deeper shadows cast by the house and stood waiting.  
Recognising the buggy as the same one which had driven past just a short time ago, Baracus was instantly suspicious at the way the two heads had turned to study the house as they’d driven past.   
Waiting until the sand vehicle had disappeared behind the sand dunes, he went to report to his commander.  
As he passed the lounger, Peck murmured. “Same buggy, BA?”  
Baracus was startled, he knew that Peck had exceptional hearing, but thought his friend was asleep, or at least listening to music through his earphones. “Yeah, Face. Same two kids.” He hesitated not willing to worry his friend. “Might just be coincidence...” he began, then paused as Face finished off his thought ... “but you want to be ready just in case.”  
BA crouched down beside the lounger, his gold chains clinking softly against each other. “Try not to worry, Faceman. We’re on the alert, we’ll be ready if anyone comes.”  
“I know, BA,” Peck’s tone was low, and to his friend’s ears, he sounded tired. “Just don’t shut me out. I’m still part of this Team.” At least I sure hope so, was his inner thought.  
“Of course you are,” BA sounded indignant. “Never think otherwise, Lieutenant.”  
Peck reached out a hand and touched the mechanic’s sleeve. “Thanks, Sergeant,” he said softly.  
Baracus patted his hand then got up and went into the house.  
“Who could it be?” asked Murdock, after Baracus had made his report. “Maddox is in jail, Petersen’s in the hospital...who?” He rubbed a hand over his brow.  
Smith sighed. “I don’t know, Murdock. Could be someone else. We’ve rattled a few cages in our time.”  
“You mean it could be just chance? Someone spotted us who isn’t in Maddox’s pay?”  
“Could be.” Hannibal paused. “Or it could be just some of the same old firm. Just ‘cos he’s in jail doesn’t stop Maddox from hiring somebody to do his dirty work.”  
There was silence as the three team-mates considered the options.   
“Does Face know about this?” asked Smith glancing towards the door.  
BA nodded. “He heard the buggy and put two and two together.” He hesitated then said bluntly. “He wants to be included Hannibal. I think he feels left out.”  
Hannibal nodded. “Yes, I can understand that.” He paused, then added quietly. ”I just don’t want him hurt any more.”  
“None of us do, Hannibal,” said Murdock, equally as quiet. Both he and BA understood Hannibal only wanted to protect his lover. “It might hurt him more in the long run if we don’t include him in any discussion.”  
Hannibal nodded slowly. All his instincts screamed at him to keep his lieutenant out of harm’s way, but he recognised what both Murdock and BA were trying to tell him. Exclude Face from helping out, make him feel useless and not only would he lose his lover’s respect, he might push Face further into the darkness which already shrouded his sight.  
Making up his mind, and praying he was doing the right thing, he went to the door, opened it and yelled through. “Hey Lieutenant, get your butt in here. We have plans to make.”  
His reward was a gasp of surprise from the veranda and approving grins on the faces of both Baracus and Murdock.  
“Okay...keep your shirt on Colonel. I’m coming...”   
Not one of the three older men could fail to hear the sheer delight in their friend’s voice.

Over the next few hours, the four friends discussed ways and means of drawing out whoever might be taking an unhealthy interest in their whereabouts.  
To begin with they knew they had to play a waiting game until their unknown enemy made a move. To this end, Face continued to sit on the veranda, supposedly listening to music, but the music was very low and the earphones were pushed back just far enough to look as though they were in place, but in reality, he could hear everything else going on around him.  
Smith was inside the house, cleaning all the weapons and making alternative plans just in case the bad guys didn’t come at them straight on.  
Murdock was on guard at the back of the house facing the road and Baracus had the upper floor as his position.  
The enemy’s move wasn’t long in coming, as BA from his vantage point in the front bedroom, saw the sun reflecting off the lenses of binoculars just beyond one of the narrow spurs of rock which gave Horseshoe Cove it’s name.  
Focussing his own powerful glasses, his lips thinned as he recognised the man who’d led the attack on the house at Lake Success.

Marcellino lowered the glasses and backed away from the rock he’d been lying on. “Can’t see Smith, but that blond is there sunbathing,” he said to Benny. “Where he is, the others won’t be far away.”  
Benny took the glasses and climbed up to see for himself. “Yeah, getting himself a nice tan.” He said as he slid back down to join his boss on the sand. “He’ll look good when we sell him off to Maddox.”   
Marcellino smiled grimly. “Maddox may be paying us to find these guys, but after he’s done ten to fifteen years in jail, he’s going to be too old to play with that piece of ass.” He looked at Benny assessingly. “If he’s that valuable to someone like Maddox, no doubt we can find someone else to pay us, not only for the blond, but for the whole lot. From what I hear about this A-Team, they’ve pissed off quite a lot of people. Rich people, who will pay to have them taken out.”  
Benny looked sideways at his boss. “I don’t know, Tony. Double crossing Maddox is dangerous. Look what he did to Petersen?”  
“Yeah, I know. But I just want to leave all our options open.”  
Benny nodded, but he there was a doubtful look in his eyes.   
At that moment, there was a swirl of sand and a dune buggy screeched to a halt beside the two men covering them in the fine particles.  
Cursing, Marcellino turned to glare at his nephew who was grinning at him from the driver’s seat.  
“You idiot. What the hell d’you think you’re doing?”  
Joseph’s grin faltered as he recognised the fury in his uncle’s hard eyes.  
“Sorry...we thought we could help.”  
Benny snorted. “The best help you can give us, is to emigrate.” He didn’t like young Joe, not at all.   
Marcellino glared at his henchman. “That’s enough from all of you.” He brushed some sand off his dark suit. “Joe, you’re not helping by screeching all over the place...” He paused as a thought struck him, then smiled. “Well actually, you can help by screeching all over the place. I want you to drive past that house a couple of times for the next hour.”  
“Sure Uncle...but why?”  
“I just want to see what they’ll do.”  
“Shoot you, I hope.” muttered Benny, then shut up as all three turned to glare at him.  
He felt disgruntled at having to work with these young punks. Having fought, and been bested, by the Team, he knew the calibre of the men they were going up against, and knew they needed help, professional help who knew the score. He had a feeling that at the first sign of trouble these kids would run like scared rabbits.   
He and his boss had been lucky to escape the police at the Lake Success place, a lot of his friends hadn’t been so lucky and were now in jail awaiting trial. So he had a score to settle with Smith and his men, not withstanding that Smith had saved him from drowning; in Benny’s cold hearted logic, that was a sign of weakness that he’d exploit if he could.

Face tensed as the roar of an engine came closer. He was lying back on the sun lounger, clad only in his blue denim shorts, seemingly at ease, but under the cover of his bare thigh he held a gun, primed and ready. He may not be able to see, but he could shoot at what he could hear. Hannibal had given him the weapon as a last line of defence and explained that he didn’t expect Face to shoot at anyone, but if he DID have to shoot to make sure it was one of the bad guys. They’d all chuckled, but there was a serious note under their laughter. If it got to the stage where Face had to defend himself, they would be in big trouble.  
Inside the house, Hannibal looked up as he heard the dune buggy. That was the third time those young men had driven past; to a seasoned soldier like himself, it was obvious what Marcellino was doing, and Smith smiled to himself. He’d had Murdock go out onto the veranda the first two times the buggy had gone past, but this time they all stayed inside, hopefully giving the impression that they considered the buggy harmless. Glancing through the picture window, he saw that Face was still lying as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Yet, knowing his lover’s body language, he could see that Face was tense. It couldn’t be much fun lying out in plain sight as bait when he couldn’t see an enemy approaching, and his heart lurched with love and pride at the stoic way his lieutenant was handling the situation.

When it appeared that the occupants of the beach house had got used to the buggy going past at speed, Marcellino decided that they weren’t going to move out into the open. That meant he would have to go in.   
He sighed. The Team had the better defensive position, but he had more men and if he was correct in assuming the Team didn’t know they were being watched, surprise on his side. He had gathered six of his remaining gang, plus his nephew and Brad, if it became absolutely necessary to pad out the numbers. Although he would defend his flesh and blood to Benny and anyone else, privately he didn’t put much stock in Joe, or his friend. Brad liked the white stuff too much to be stable, and although Joe swore to his uncle that he wasn’t a user, Tony wouldn’t bet too large a sum on that.  
Then just as the sun was beginning to drop further into the sea, two of the men came out of the house. The tall man in the brown leather jacket whose name Marcellino recalled, was Murdock, stopped to speak to the sun-bather, while the big black guy continued on down the steps and around to the far side of the house. A few minutes later came the sound of an engine and a black van pulled out from the car port. A horn sounded impatiently and Murdock hurriedly patted Peck’s blond head and jumped into the passenger seat.  
Hardly believing his luck, Marcellino watched as the van sped away up the beach in a cloud of sand. Waiting for a few more minutes, he saw Smith come out onto the veranda and sit down beside the sunbather. They talked for a few minutes then Smith went back into the house, returning a few moments later with a shirt, which he helped Peck to don.  
Sliding back down the rock, Marcellino, spoke softly into the two-way radio he’d brought with him.   
Now was the time to take two of the Team, the others he’d get on their return.

Hannibal sat beside Face on the lounger, seemingly at ease, but every muscle was tense with anticipation - and worry.  
“Well, the trap is set, eh Hannibal?” Face said softly.  
”Yes, I’ll just be glad when it’s over, waiting is always hard.”   
“This Marcellino...what kind of slimeball are we dealing with?”  
Smith grinned as Face used one of his own favourite descriptions of the bad guys. “He’s a minor dealer, who is probably hoping that this will lead to bigger and better things.”  
“Well,” Peck sat up, swinging his legs down to the wooden floor. “He’s gonna be disappointed.”  
“He sure is,” declared Hannibal. “I’m going in now, but I’ll be watching from the window.” He ran a hand over his lover’s shoulder, patted it reassuringly and with an effort of will, got to his feet and moved into the house.  
Face fiddled with the earphones, then adjusting them so that he could still hear sounds besides the music, he lay back again, one hand resting on the padded cushion beside his right thigh, fingers inches from the gun underneath it....and waited.

It was dusk when Marcellino made his move; after one last sweep to make sure the area was clear of potential witnesses, he signalled his men to move. Most of the people who had been on the beach were gone; home to their evening meal, and whatever else they did on warm, Californian nights.  
He led three of his men to the front of the house, the others were to approach from the rear. Moving very quietly he mounted the steps of the veranda and glanced across at the lounger; as he expected the figure under the light rug, was asleep; earphones covering his ears, one arm lying on top of the rug, blond head turned to face the wall.  
Motioning Benny to keep guard, he moved to the doorway. Glancing at his watch he waited a few more seconds to allow his men to get into position, then opened the door quietly. At least he tried to open the door quietly, but it stuck in the frame.  
Muttering a curse, Marcellino pressed harder and the door swung open, banging back into the wall before he could catch it.  
Three events happened rapidly: Benny took his eyes off the recumbent figure and swung round at the noise only to see his boss jump into the house.  
Marcellino threw himself over the threshold, his two men following him and the door banged shut again.  
Benny hesitated a moment, unable to decide whether to stay put, watching the sleeper, or go and see what transpired. It was suddenly decided for him as he found himself on the wrong end of a gun barrel, held in the steady hands of the man whom they all thought had been asleep and unaware.  
“Don’t move a muscle,” a hard voice grated.  
“You...can see...” spluttered Benny, trying to turn his head, but the gun pressed harder into his throat.  
“Yep, sure can,” drawled Murdock in his normal voice.  
“You’re not...not...”  
“Nope!”   
“But...but...how?”  
“Trade secret,” declared another voice and Peck swung his legs down from the lounger, pulling off the earphones.  
“Face... stay put,” warned the pilot anxiously.  
“Okay, Murdock. I just want to sit up. I’m getting dizzy being horizontal for hours,” groaned his friend.  
”You think you had it tough,” replied Murdock in a long-suffering tone. “I’m sure I’ll never be able to straighten up ever again, there’s not much space between the lounger and the wall. I’ve got cramp in places I didn’t even know I had...”  
“Okay, okay,” Face appreciated the attempt to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t help worrying. “How’d you think the others are doing?”  
“Don’t know Facie,” answered the pilot, hearing the anxiety in the lieutenant’s voice.  
“Ah naughty, naughty...” he grabbed Benny as that worthy decided to try and sidle along the wall. “I said don’t move a muscle, that means any and all of them,” he warned.  
The mobster subsided, losing all interest as the metal of the gun pressed deeper into his neck.  
“Don’t worry Face, he’ll be okay.” Murdock just wished he believed it as firmly as he tried to sound.   
Inside the house Marcellino was cursing volubly as he struggled to escape the mesh which he and his men had run into. Scrambling through the doorway, they’d lunged towards the shadowy figure by the far window, the last rays of the dying sun casting a silver gleam on the tall man’s hair.  
Almost within reach Tony had been congratulating himself on an easy job when the net had descended from the ceiling and they were trapped, just like the fish for which the net had been intended.   
Cursing wildly, he tried to lift the gun, which was entangled in the mesh. “Smith, you’re a dead man...” he yelled.  
At the sound of the gunshot, Face started forward, “No,” he whispered.   
Murdock grabbed him, then they both relaxed a fraction as Smith’s cool voice replied.  
“Not even close, Tony. Have to do better than that.”  
“Don’t bait him, Colonel,” muttered Murdock. He was trying to hold onto his friend and keep a bead on Benny.  
Inside the house, Hannibal was keeping a firm grip on the rope attached to the weighted net he and BA had attached to the ceiling a few feet inside the main room. The four mobsters were getting more and more tangled as they struggled in the strong netting, and had started to shoot wildly in the hope of hitting their elusive target.  
Smith had anticipated this reaction and was standing on the far side of the room and it was his reflection in the Cheval mirror brought down from one the bedrooms that the men were shooting at.  
When the hammers clicked on empty guns, Hannibal moved out into the centre of the room, jerking again on the rope, sending the men falling into each other.  
Pointing his own loaded gun at the flailing mess of limbs, he said. “Now, if I were you, I’d drop those guns before you hurt yourselves.”  
Marcellino stared up through the hard fibres cutting across his fleshy nose. “Damn you, Smith...”  
Opening his mouth to mouth more frustrated curses, Marcellino paused as he suddenly remembered he held an ace up his sleeve.  
“Maybe I’ll have the last laugh yet,” he said.   
Hannibal paused, eyebrow rising. “How?” he asked simply.  
“My friend Benny, is at present standing over that blond everyone is so keen to get their hands on... so maybe you’d better let us outta this net, and I’ll tell him not to hurt him... much.” gloated Macellino.  
He laughed as Smith’s face tightened. “Forgot about your little bedwarmer, huh?”  
Smith looked thoughtful. “No,” he said, moving round to stand directly over the gloating gangster. “I was just thinking what a total and absolute jerk you are. And there was I thinking that I might just turn you loose for Maddox’s men to finish off...then you go and say something nasty like that.” He shook his head, then called softly.  
“Murdock.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
Marcellino jerked towards the doorway and saw a sight that made him grind his teeth in impotent rage.  
Benny was standing there, hands on his head, a snarl of rage on his face to match the one on his Boss’s features, the tall figure of another man standing behind him.  
“Benny, you imbecile...”  
“Don’t blame him, Tony, you’re supposed to be the Boss, the planner, he was just following orders, weren’t you Benny?”  
Benny glared at him, then at Marcellino. “Just following orders,” he grated.  
Marcellino turned awkwardly back to Smith. “How many men do you have, Smith? I saw the black guy and that pilot pal of yours leave...so who else have you got stashed away?”  
Smith grinned, although it never reached his eyes. “That would be telling, Tony... but you shouldn’t believe all you see.” He paused then called. “Everything okay, Captain?”   
Murdock’s head popped into sight over Benny’s shoulder. “All present and correct, sir.” he reported.  
Marcellino swore again, struggling against the net. “I’ll get even with you, Smith, if it’s the last thing I do.”  
“Tony, Tony...you shouldn’t make promises you won’t be able to keep,” mocked the Colonel.  
“I’ll keep this ....”  
“No,” Smith’s voice had hardened. “You won’t! If you ever come anywhere near me, or any of my men again, I won’t just hand you over to the police - I’ll finish you myself.” he moved until he was standing over the gangster, the muzzle of his gun pointing directly into Marcellino’s suddenly white face. “Do I make myself abundantly clear?”  
The would-be kidnapper looked death in the eye; an ice-blue Arctic eye and gulped. Nodding his head he acknowledged the threat.  
“Good.” Smith turned as a noise from the rear of the house became audible. “Now we’d better go and greet the rest of your pathetic gang.”   
Marcellino slumped, his last faint hope of surprise giving way to fury as he realised his back-up unit had also walked into a trap.   
Hannibal nodded at Murdock, “Keep on eye on this bunch, while I go and give BA a hand.”  
The pilot nodded, shoving Benny forward. “Sit down,” he ordered. “Without using your hands,” he snapped.  
Benny slumped into an ungainly heap, and on Murdock’s further orders, sat on his hands, palms up, effectively preventing him from springing up.  
“Saw that in a movie, once,” Murdock informed them.   
Marcellino watched sullenly from his uncomfortable position on the floor. “Just how the hell did you and that black guy get back here without me seeing you?” he asked at last.  
Murdock grinned. “As my friend out there would say, trade secret...but I’ll tell you this much. You should really have followed the van all the way, not just assume we’d gone into LA.”  
There was a loud noise from the rear of the house, followed by the curses of Marcellino’s other men, and the sound of punches being thrown and received.  
Murdock grinned. “Looks like the Reception Committee has greeted the new arrivals...”  
A few moments later Smith came back into the main room, shaking his hand which had impacted with the side of a large and hard head.   
“Okay Hannibal?” asked Murdock.  
“Yeah...BA’s tying them all up. These nets work a treat don’t they?” He grinned down at his enemies.   
“Very funny,” muttered Tony, squirming uncomfortably.  
“Yes, isn’t it, Uncle Tony?”   
The voice from the still open front door sent Smith and Murdock spinning round, their hands lifting to aim the guns which they were still holding.  
Both men froze at the sight that greeted them.   
Face stood in the doorway held in the tight grip of the two men who’d been driving the dune buggy. His left arm was twisted behind his back by one of the young men, but the other, stockier man, held a knife to his throat and held Face’s head firmly by the cruel grip he had on the long blond hair. Being taller than his captor, Peck’s head was dragged painfully sideways as the trio moved further into the room.   
“Joseph!” Marcellino’s voice was startled, “Good boy.” He laughed aloud at the men who’d captured him so easily. “Not so clever now, huh Smith?” Turning awkwardly back to the newcomers he ordered briskly. “Get us loose here, Joe...”  
“Not so fast...” Brad spoke up from his position beside Joe, eyes darting round the room. He motioned to Hannibal and Murdock. “You two...drop those guns.”  
Hannibal hesitated, and Brad tightened his grip viciously on Peck’s blond hair yanking his head back, and pressing the point of the knife against the taut skin of his throat, in silent and unmistakable warning. The Colonel spread his hands and carefully dropped his weapon to the carpet, nodding for Murdock to do the same. He didn’t like the crazed look in Brad’s eyes.  
“Good idea, Brad,” Joe said, “we wouldn’t want anyone to get shot, would we?” He grinned insolently at Smith, who merely looked him over with cold eyes.  
Joe felt suddenly nervous and got a firmer grip on Face’s wrist.  
“You okay, Face?” asked Hannibal quietly.  
The lieutenant tried to nod, but was halted as Brad’s fingers twisted in his hair, forcing a faint grunt of pain from him. “Yes,” he gasped, adding. “Sorry Hannibal, didn’t hear them until it was too late.”   
The noise of the fight had covered the sound of the footsteps on the sand and they’d been on him before he could shout a warning.  
“Shut up,” snarled Brad, “remember what I told you Blondie, open your mouth again and I’ll cut your throat.” He pressed the knife harder against his captive’s neck.  
Smith took a half step forward, fury in his eyes, fear in his heart as the knife point drew a bead of blood from his partner’s tanned flesh.  
“Stop, he means it,” yelled Joe, not wanting to start a bloodbath. He knew Brad had been sniffing the white powder and it always made him unpredictable.  
Smith halted, feeling Murdock’s hand on his arm, urging caution.  
Joseph released his grasp on Peck’s wrist and bent down to pick up the dropped guns. Holding one out to Brad, he pointed the other at the other two Team members.  
Brad pocketed his knife and took the gun, but still hung on to his prisoner, twisting the heavy mane of silky hair tighter between his fingers. He felt powerful and invincible, getting a kick out of holding the life - or death - of more than just the man in his vicious grip.   
Benny started to get to his feet, then halted as Brad swung the gun round to aim at him.  
“I didn’t say you could move,” Brad said.  
Benny glared, but remained where he was.  
Joe eyed his friend warily. “What?”  
Brad waved the gun over the room, “Maybe we should negotiate.. .get some of the action.”  
Marcellino’s eyes narrowed in fury.  
“Joe,” his voice was tight. “Get me outta this net before I get really angry.”  
“We’re supposed to be scared,” sneered Brad, strutting forward, pushing Face ahead of him. His eyes were huge black pits, and all the men facing him could see that he was spaced out - on drugs, or drink - whatever it was, it made him dangerous.  
“Brad...” Joe’s voice held a nervous tremor.   
“No, Joe.” Brad turned to look at his friend. “Who was it that told us to stay outta this, that we couldn’t handle it?” He looked down at Marcellino. “And who is it, tangled up in a net like some stranded fish?”  
He laughed and Face felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He didn’t have to see what the others could, he heard the madness in the young man’s tone, the total lack of control and realised they were in more trouble than he’d thought.  
“Brad....come on, man.” Joe’s voice was nervous, he understood the signs only too well. He’d told his uncle the truth, he didn’t take drugs, but knew that Brad did, and when he was high, he lost all sense of reality. Usually he could handle his friend, but this situation wasn’t usual.  
His hands were trembling already with the strain of holding the gun steady, he was beginning to regret creeping up on the house to see what had happened.  
It was Brad, as usual, who’d taken the lead; after seeing the slim form of the blind man sitting tensely on the veranda, his head turned towards the sounds inside the beach-house.  
Joe had thought of it as game, as he’d crept up on the unsuspecting man, jumping on him and throwing him to the wooden floor, hands stifling the shout of warning the blond had tried to utter. He’d been surprised at the strength in the slim form struggling beneath the weight of himself and Brad; and they’d had a tougher fight than they thought from someone Brad had sneered would be a pushover.  
“Joseph!” His uncle’s voice snapped him back to the present. “You release me now, or there’ll be hell to pay later.”  
“Uncle Tony, will you just shut up a minute,” Joe said desperately, seeing the crazed gleam in Brad’s eyes.   
Marcellino bristled then as Brad turned towards him, he could see for himself why his nephew was worried.  
“Yes, Uncle Tony. Just shut the fuck up.” Brad laughed, “or there’ll be hell to pay NOW.”  
Smith spoke up, he was increasingly worried about the way that Brad never loosened his grip for an instant on his partner’s hair, swinging him round when he turned. He could see the strain on his lover’s face and the way his lips tightened in pain every time he was dragged about. Every time Face raised a hand to try and ease the pain of his hair being yanked, it was knocked down again by the gun.  
“What is it that you want, Brad?” Hannibal’s tone was even.  
“What I want, Colonel sir,” sneered the young man. “Is a nice reward for bringing in your Team. Yes, we know all about you and the A-Team from Uncle Tony there.” He dragged his captive forward and stopped in front of Smith, having to look up at the taller man, “and I understand that certain members of an LA drug syndicate would also pay heavily for his ass,” he shook Peck’s head, “not to mention the rest of him... and you, and you....” he pointed at Smith and Murdock with the gun.   
He didn’t mention Baracus and Smith breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that his sergeant was at the rear of the house and would surely have guessed that something had gone very wrong.  
Suddenly Benny, who’s anger had risen with every minute of having to sit and listen to these kids he considered to be useless, surged to he feet, diving towards Joe to snatch the gun from his hand.   
It might have worked, but that young man was so nervously tense, he pulled the trigger of the gun even as Benny grabbed it and the older man fell back to the floor, a gurgle of astonishment escaping with the blood from his mouth.  
The room went silent. Even Brad seemed dumbstruck by the sudden tragedy, but not for long.  
He actually laughed, even as Joe stumbled back from the bleeding man, leaving the smoking gun on the floor.  
“Well, you sure showed him Joe...never thought you had it in you.”  
“Brad...but I killed him...I killed Benny...” Joe was getting hysterical. “I’ve never killed anyone before ...oh my God...what’ve I done?”  
“Made our share bigger,” said Brad, turning his head to look at his friend.  
In that moment, Face made his move. He was tired of being dragged around by the hair like some puppy; he’d heard the shot and was in agony for the moment it took him to realise that it wasn’t Hannibal or Murdock who’d been shot.  
From the way he was dragged back into Brad’s body, every time they moved, he knew that Brad was holding him with his left hand, so the gun must be in his right. Moving like lightning, Face swung his left fist up and over his shoulder, connecting solidly with Brad’s mouth, while at the same time, his right hand flashed sideways, hoping to hit his captor’s arm and make him drop the gun.  
He was partially successful as Brad staggered back a step, his left hand losing his grip on the long hair as he clutched at his bloody mouth, but he still held onto the gun.  
“Why you....” he yelled in fury, trying to bring the gun round to shoot the man he’d thought was helpless.  
By then, however, Smith and Murdock had both moved like the well-trained team they were.  
Murdock dived forward, catching Face round the waist and pitching them both to the carpet, while Smith grabbed Brad’s gun hand and twisted mercilessly, hearing the bones snap in the drug-crazed man’s wrist.  
Screaming obscenities, Brad swung his other hand at the silver head, but he didn’t stand a chance against Smith in a fair fight and was soon sobbing on the carpet, moaning about his wrist.  
Hannibal stood over the groaning man, then with a gesture of sheer disgust, pushed him to one side and went to see to his partner and his pilot.  
He found the longer frame of the captain lying protectively over his friend, and Smith grinned as he heard Face muttering about someone having to lose some weight before doing this again.  
Murdock glanced up at his commander and seeing that he was smiling rolled over, letting Face breathe more easily.   
Crouching down beside his two officers, Hannibal patted the rumpled fair head and put his other hand on Murdock’s shoulder, squeezing his thanks.   
Starting to stand, he tensed as a hard voice ordered him to stay still.   
Looking up he saw that the distraught Joseph had loosened the netting enough to let his uncle escape and Marcellino was now standing over them, gun in hand, murder in his eyes.  
“Smith you’re gonna pay for this,” he gestured at Benny’s body.  
“Hey, it wasn’t our fault that Benny got clever, or your nephew has a nervous trigger finger,” Murdock said heatedly.  
“You may not have pulled the trigger,” said Marcellino, “but you’re responsible for all this.” He gestured at the netting where his men were scrambling free.  
“Oh, so I’m supposed to just sit by and let you and your goons try and kill us, and kidnap one of my men...I don’t think so,” said Smith coldly, getting to his feet, ignoring the gun pointed at his chest.  
Marcellino snarled. “Whatever the reason, you’re gonna pay for this.”  
He raised the gun to fire and Smith stared straight at him, blue eyes cold and unafraid, successfully hiding the anguish in his heart - never to see Tem again, hold him, and try and keep him safe.  
“What...what’s happening?” Peck’s voice asked suddenly, unable to keep quiet any longer; the words he could hear filling him with dread. Hannibal... someone going to hurt Hannibal.  
“I’m gonna shoot your colonel...or is it your lover?” sneered Marcellino, taking a firmer grip on the gun. “Then I’m gonna hand you over to Maddox’s gang and let them deal with you in their own way.”  
Face couldn’t help the shudder of revulsion that ran through him, but over and above that old terror, was the fear of losing the man he loved.  
“No,” he cried, then steadying his voice, added. “Come on Tony, you seem to be a reasonable man, we can come to some arrangement...” He smiled nervously. “I’m sure you realise that Maddox is finished in the drug business...he’s going to jail. I doubt whether you’ll get paid at all....and you’re not a murderer, are you?”  
For long moments Marcellino looked down at the man sitting cross-legged on the floor; whose wide, sea-green eyes, irrespective of their blindness, looked bewitchingly beautiful. Despite his blond hair being in a tangled mess from the rough handling, and a trickle of blood running down his throat where Brad had cut him, he looked appealingly attractive. Marcellino was a lady’s man through and through, yet even he felt the subtle pull of this young man’s allure. He could only marvel, and also feel jealous of the loyalty Smith seemed to inspire in his men.   
“Normally no,” he admitted, answering Peck’s question at last. “But one of my men is dead, and your Colonel really pisses me off...”  
“That’s not a reason for murder,” insisted Face. “He annoys the hell out of a lot of people...”  
Smith shifted his weight fractionally, knowing that Face was trying to buy time for him to do something.  
“It’s just my way,” he declared breezily, teeth showing in a predatory grin.  
“Shut up, Hannibal,” Face said, without taking his attention away from the man he was trying to persuade not to shoot his commander.  
Marcellino actually smiled at that comment, and wondered for a moment who was in charge, but the barrel of the gun never wavered from it’s target on Smith’s heart.   
“Think of all the trouble you’re going to have,” Face went on, spreading his hands. “Do you trust your men not to talk; murder is still a capital offence... and what about your nephew there, he’ll need a lot of help to get over killing a man - he doesn’t seem like a hard-boiled killer either...”  
Seeing that Marcellino was actually listening to his friend’s words, Murdock decided to join in; he’d felt Face’s shiver of horror against his side where their bodies touched, and could imagine his friend’s thoughts about the future the gangster had laid out for him.  
“What about me?” he asked quietly, stealthily easing his feet under him.   
Marcellino turned his gaze to the pilot crouched beside his blind friend.  
“You? Maybe I’ll hand you over to Maddox too, he’s still got clout even in jail. He might want to pay you back, seeing as he won’t have your colonel,” he paused, then added grimly, “or maybe I’ll put you both up to the highest bidder...”  
“What about me, sucka?” came a growl from the front doorway.  
Marcellino started to swing round, but didn’t get far as the edge of a large hand, covered in jewellery, struck the back of his neck, while another one, equally large and bejewelled, yanked the gun from his hand.  
Marcellino promptly lost all interest in the proceedings for a long time.  
“B.A. Wondered where you’d got too,” said Smith coolly, but his eyes spoke volumes to the man who’d been his back-up for many long years.  
Ba nodded fractionally. “I was waiting for an opportunity... didn’t know what that smackhead might do,” he indicated the still sobbing Brad. “He was waving that gun all over the place...”   
The growl was normal, but the big man was only now starting to relax.   
After tying up the gangsters who’d attacked from the back of the house, he’d gathered up the guns and started to dismantle the netting as it was in danger of tripping him up. Hearing Brad shouting, he’d dropped everything and crept to the communicating door and had seen the perilous situation his friends were in.   
Like the others, he could see that Brad was out of control and feared to make a move while Face was in real danger of being shot by the unstable young man.  
Knowing he couldn’t enter the front rooms without being seen, B.A. decided to go around the house and get behind their enemies.  
He’d been at the side of the house when he’d heard the shot and had run the rest of the way to the front veranda.  
Through the window, he’d been in time to see Face strike out at his tormentor then watched as his commander finished off the young bully, having no doubts about that outcome. Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves after hearing that gunshot, the sergeant had moved to the main door and was on the point of entering when he realised that Marcellino was free and had got the drop on his friends.  
Swearing softly under his breath, Baracus had had to bide his time, making himself wait for that opportunity that Smith had taught them would always appear, no matter how fleeting it might be.  
Face’s words had done the trick, making Marcellino pause in his intentions and had given BA that opportunity.  
“Well, you couldn’t have picked a better one,” smiled the colonel.  
“Will somebody tell me what’s going on?” came the sharp question from near their feet.  
“Sorry Facie,” said Murdock, putting a hand under Peck’s elbow to help him up, then promptly knocked him flat again as Marcellino’s remaining men made a run for the door; they’d had enough, and with their Boss unconscious decided they didn’t want to go up against the A-Team ever again.  
“Let them go, BA,” ordered Hannibal as the sergeant made to go after them. “We’ve got the shark, we can afford to let the sprats go.”  
Murdock and BA groaned at the terrible joke and even Face shook his head, unable to speak for the thankfulness that was filling his heart. They all seemed to be safe, and Hannibal could make as many jokes as he liked, just so long as he was there to make them.  
BA stepped forward wanting to check that his friend was okay. Putting a hand under Peck’s elbow, he helped him to his feet. “Nice diversion lieutenant,” he said gruffly, patting the blond head.  
Face shrugged, trying not to wince as even that gentle pat set his head aching. He felt as though his hair had been pulled out by the roots, his scalp was on fire and very sore.  
“It wasn’t much,” he started to say.  
“Not much!” Murdock spoke up. “You only made it possible for the Baracian one here to get behind old Tony and clout him good.”  
“You sure did, kid,” Hannibal said, coming forward and putting an arm round his lover’s shoulders. “Just like old times, huh guys?”  
“Sure was,” said Murdock, coming up to hug both his friends. “The old con man ducking and diving... you did us proud Facie.”  
Peck was astonished; he didn’t think he’d done anything remarkable; it was just second nature for him to try and talk them out of trouble... then he realised he hadn’t felt this easy with his friends for many weeks - and it felt terrific.  
“Glad to be of service,” he managed to say, but the others heard the tremor in his voice and knew the words were meant sincerely.  
Hannibal kissed the top of the blond head gently, and whispered. “We’ll always need you, Tem, never forget that.”   
Then he sighed, knowing that they had to get out of here in case anyone had heard the gunshot and called the cops.  
“I’d better ring Ed Maloney and get him to come and get these guys.”  
He looked round, noting that Joe had also disappeared with the others; Brad was still sitting rocking himself on the floor, obviously needing another fix - and Benny’s body lay silently as before.  
BA went to check that Benny really was beyond any aid and shook his head. “He’s gone, Hannibal, shot clean through the heart.”  
Smith sighed. The waste of a human life was always sad. “It was an accident. That kid Joe didn’t mean to shoot I’m sure; he just got scared.”  
“It wasn’t your fault Hannibal, none of this would’ve happened if Marcellino hadn’t come after us,” cried Murdock  
“I know, Murdock - just it would’ve been better for everyone if a man hadn’t been killed.”  
Then he rallied, clapping his hands making them jump. “Okay, let’s get our things in the van. I don’t want to be around when the cops come for these guys. Maloney is okay, but I wouldn’t want to put a strain on any of his men - they don’t know us as well as he does.” He grinned round at his Team.   
“Yeah, we’re such lovable characters,” said Face with a faint grin.  
Smith laughed, “That we are, Lieutenant, that we are,” and I love you very much indeed...  
Having already decided they’d have to quit the beach-house when they knew their hideaway had been compromised, it didn’t take the Team very long to pack their remaining gear and place it in the van.  
While the others were packing, Hannibal telephoned Maloney’s private number and left a coded message, which their detective friend would interpret as an emergency and ring them on the van phone.  
Face had sat quietly beside him, he was still a shaking inwardly at the close shave they - and especially Hannibal - had had, and found it comforting just to be near his commander. Hannibal understood and kept an arm round his lover’s shoulder, gentle fingers stroking it while he talked, or ruffling the soft hair on the back of Face’s neck, all very soothing to the younger man.  
Then it was time to leave and feeling more at ease with each other than they had for the past week, the Team set out to drive home.

Over the next three weeks, the Team tried to get some semblance of routine back into their lives. First on the agenda was talking with Maloney, and after hearing Smith’s report on all the events at the beach-house, the police inspector had taken over responsibility for Marcellino’s gang and his squad had started their own investigation into the killing of Benny. The cove and nearby areas of the beach had been a hive of activity for over a week, giving the locals something to gossip about; but like everything else, once the police had gone and there was nothing to see, it had become old news and they’d gone about their usual business. Smith and his men could not, of course, testify about the killing, but Hannibal had told Maloney that it had been an accident, and Ed had said he’d see what could be done. No doubt, Marcellino and his men could also tell the truth of the matter.  
Hannibal heaved a sigh of relief, that was one problem he could forget about.   
Another problem seemed to have sorted itself out too. All of the Team were feeling a lot better than they had when they’d first arrived back in LA. Whatever cloud that had been hanging over their spirits had lightened a lot, even though Face still couldn’t see more than a white light. The lieutenant himself felt calmer, not so prone to the black despair that had haunted him ever since Maddox had come back into their lives. That wasn’t to say that he could forget his affliction and that he didn’t feel down at times; but he did feel better.  
When he tried to chase it down, Face realised it all stemmed from that remark of BA’s after the fight in the beach-house when he’d congratulated Face on his diversionary tactics; and the other two Team members had lost no time in agreeing with their sergeant.  
There hadn’t been any condescension or pity in their tones; they’d merely been stating a fact, and Face had begun to believe in himself again. He wasn’t a helpless blind man who had to be led around everywhere; he still had his job, he still had the gift of the gab... and he was determined he wouldn’t forget that again, even if he never got his sight back.   
Even there he had hope; for as his body gradually healed from the abuse he’d endured, the nightmare memories of that horrible house near the lake started to become less frequent, though no less terrifying when he shot awake, trembling with remembered horror of Petersen’s words and actions. He had flashes of sight when his lover was beside him, either sleeping or making love; sometimes he could see Hannibal’s silver hair like a halo through the mist. It never lasted more than a few minutes, but it was enough to give him hope that he would see again.  
Hannibal, too, had been more relaxed, although it would take him a lot longer to come to terms with what had happened to Face at the Lake, and he would never stop blaming himself for not being able to keep Petersen away from his partner.   
A week after the abortive attempt to kidnap Face at the beach, Smith finally got up enough nerve to view the box of videos. While Face was sunbathing on the roof of their old apartment, watched over by Baracus and Murdock, the colonel had gone to BA’s apartment, thus making sure that there was no chance of Face coming in unexpectedly. He’d also managed to leave unobtrusively, without alerting Murdock’s suspicions, deciding that if Face’s ordeal was on the tapes, it was bad enough for him to watch something so very private, no one else would see it. As Face’s lover he was intimately connected, so had some slight excuse for this invasion of privacy, but there were some things that shouldn’t be shared - not even with a best friend.   
It hadn’t taken him as long as expected, for every video had a date and location at the beginning, so he’d been able to ignore any dates when the Team had been together. Which was just as well, because the few random scenes Smith scanned through, just to make sure, had made him cringe with disgust and embarrassment; he’d never been attracted to S&M sex games. Fortunately, as far as he could see, none of the participants were being forced into anything they hadn’t wanted, and seemed to be enjoying themselves.   
There was only one video which didn’t get handed over to Maloney and that was the most recent; the one Petersen had running from the moment he had taken Face into that house. Every minute of those dreadful hours was on the tape; Smith saw Face struggling in the chair trying to avoid Petersen’s clumsy attempt at seduction; then had seen him painstakingly walking the room as he tried to escape, Hannibal’s heart aching with a fierce pride at his lover’s determination and strength of will. When the tape showed the final scenes of Face being chained, drugged; stripped naked then brutally assaulted, however, Hannibal’s low cursing had turned to a horrified silence as he’d watched; helpless to save his lover from the monster on the screen.   
When the tape had finally clicked off, Hannibal sat in silence, fingers twisting together as though they held Petersen’s neck in their grip. It had been a harrowing experience, and he knew it would haunt his thoughts for eternity. A turmoil of emotions filled Hannibal’s mind; anger at the rapist; his own shame and guilt at not being able to prevent what happened and frustration, that he wouldn’t be able to share his knowledge of what had happened with Face. Being able to offer his lover some comfort in talking abut his ordeal, might’ve helped them both in some small way, but he couldn’t even do that. He wished he could’ve spared Face the agony which he must’ve felt before the drugs had obliterated conscious knowledge of the physical violations and take it all on himself; save his beloved any further suffering. For despite his lieutenant’s brave attempts to come to terms with this latest assault, he knew that Face did suffer, at night and in the daylight when something would remind him of his ordeal, his handsome features would pale and he shivered as a memory stalked through his mind, even though he couldn’t tell Hannibal what it was.  
Hannibal couldn’t enlighten him either; couldn’t try to talk to him about his sufferings without explaining how he knew about them. This was the penance Hannibal would have to bear alone for his failure to protect his younger lover and for invading Face’s privacy in watching the tape in the first place.  
Before he left his sergeant’s home, Hannibal burned the tape - viciously tearing it out of the casing, wishing that Petersen was there so that he could make the depraved sadist pay for what he’d done, both physically and emotionally, to the man he loved.  
Face had been puzzled by Hannibal’s moods over the next few days; his lover had alternated between holding him tightly, kissing him with anxious tenderness as he’d apologised again for not being able to rescue him sooner from Petersen, then pulling away to pace the carpet, then he would hurriedly leave the room and Face would hear the slam of the door of the spare room that the Colonel used as a study.  
Face had repeatedly tried to reassure Hannibal that he wasn’t to blame for Petersen’s actions, that he didn’t blame him in the slightest, but it didn’t seem to help. Unable to understand what else was bothering Hannibal, and not getting any sensible reply to his anxious queries, Face decided it might just be best to wait until his partner was able to either work through, or share this particular worry. Normally, Face could charm, wheedle, or plain irritate his lover into telling him what was worrying him, and in his gaining confidence the lieutenant felt sure he’d eventually be able to learn what was troubling his mate so deeply at this time. So, he would have to play a waiting game, there wasn’t much else he could do; in the meantime he’d do his best to be more loving and attentive. Face smiled to himself, that wouldn’t be hard to do, he loved this complex man so very much.   
Another week went by and gradually, Hannibal stopped pacing and escaping into his study; determined not to give up any more of their precious time together by feelings of grief, guilt and shame, which after all, were just another sort of legacy of Maddox’s lust and disregard for the rights of anyone who thwarted him.   
Throughout his turbulent life, Hannibal had never given in to threats before, and he wasn’t going to be intimidated into doing so now by his own remorse - it wouldn’t only be himself who suffered. It was bad enough that the blond young man he’d give his life for, had lost his sight, the kid certainly deserved something better than this twilight world of hidden emotions and raw guilt.   
Kicking his negative feelings out of the ball park, Hannibal took courage from the way Face found every opportunity to show his affection. The role of comforter being reversed on some nights when Hannibal awoke wide-eyed, sweating with horror and impotent rage from his own recurring nightmare of seeing Face in Petersen’s savage hands. It was incredibly soothing for the older man to feel his partner’s strong arms around him, warm lips kissing his forehead and soft words of love and comfort whispered into his ear. Words without form, understood only by ones who loved and cared so deeply.   
Face held Hannibal carefully, wrapping his long limbs round the trembling form, cuddling the heavier body against his chest, his own trauma submerged during this time as his whole being was focused on bringing relief and comfort to his usually unflappable lover. It was rare indeed for Hannibal to have such horrific nightmares - he always kept everything under tight control. Whatever it was must be truly terrible.   
After making his decision to get on with his life and concentrate on loving his soul-mate, Hannibal found a measure of peace from his night horrors and one sunny afternoon, lying entwined on the couch with his lover, Hannibal asked if he’d like a change of scene.  
“Okay,” Face had murmured, “anywhere in particular?”  
“Anywhere you’d like to go.” Smith paused then asked, “How about the beach? You like the sound of the waves, don’t you?”  
It was the one thing that still seared Smith’s heart and soul and stopped them both from being unreservedly happy; Face was blind and although they managed from day to day, living in hope that it would go as quickly as it came, the knowledge that it may not go away, cast a shadow over their happiness at being together.  
Face had lifted his head from it’s comfortable place in the hollow of Smith’s shoulder.  
“Really?”  
“Not if you don’t want too,” added Hannibal hastily, feeling as though he’d made a mistake.   
“Oh I’d love to go...only not that same cove,” and Face smiled the smile that always took Hannibal’s breath away.  
A smile full of sunshine and sheer joy of being with the man he loved.  
“Right...the beach it is,” and Hannibal had kissed the sensual lips with tenderness which turned to passion when Face’s tongue demanded more.  
It would be just the two of them. Murdock had gone back to the VA, to reinstate his claim on the video game, was his excuse, although he really needed some time with Richter to try and come to an understanding with all the upsets he’d experienced over the past few weeks. He’d hugged Face extra hard and said he’d be back very soon. To Hannibal’s relief, the pilot had seemed to accept his quiet explanation that after checking the dates on the videos, he’d burned the only one which might’ve been upsetting, unseen. In any event, the videos were never again mentioned by either of the two senior officers.  
BA had also opted to go back to his own small apartment and take up his job at the local youth club. Seeing the mess that Joe and Brad had made with their lives, had reinforced his determination to give his boys as much help as he could, both in practical knowledge and support in their personal problems.   
It was a measure of how much better all the Team were feeling; to be able to separate, as they had always done, and go about their own personal business - knowing of course, they were just a telephone call away.  
So Hannibal and Face went back to the beach, a few miles down from Horseshoe Cove, it being Hannibal’s opinion that the cops wouldn’t think of looking for them so close to their recent abode. Face just crossed his fingers behind his back, sighed inwardly, and agreed.

Hannibal stood by the front window, feeling a sense of déjá vu, as he watched his lover sunbathing on the patio area outside. This house was smaller than the previous one, but had a garden encircled by a white fence, half of which was paved in a checkerboard pattern of black and white paving stones. There were only two bedrooms, but happily, only one was being used and Hannibal’s lips curved into a lecherous grin as he recalled that it had been used frequently since their arrival five days ago. He was debating whether to bring up the subject of going to see Pierce again, but he wanted a few more days with his lover without any kind of discord between them.  
At present, his lieutenant was lying face-down on the garden hammock, fair head pillowed on one arm, the other trailing over the edge of the cushions as the swing swayed gently in the light breeze. He was wearing a pair of pale blue shorts, which clung like a second skin to his delightfully rounded buttocks, his long legs slightly parted, lay straight and true, all in all, he was the picture of lazy, indolent grace.  
It had a busy day and a thoroughly enjoyable one. They’d spent the morning on the beach; clad only in brief denim shorts and canvas shoes, bare bronzed skin gleaming in the sunshine, the two men had been the object of many admiring glances as they walked arm in arm along the shoreline, uncaring what others might think. They’d splashed in the shallows at the edge of the ocean, then had a run along the open sand; Face trusting his companion to guide him away from any hidden obstacles. It had done Hannibal’s heart the power of good to see his lover’s laughing face, sun-kissed golden skin and the expression of fear gone from his sea-green eyes. For a moment, the colonel could forget that those eyes couldn’t see his face.  
Coming back from their run, Smith had made a simple meal of cold chicken breast and salad which Face had enjoyed. The younger man had rediscovered his appetite and cleared the plate, not hesitating to use his fingers when necessary. Smith had watched in openmouthed awe, as his sophisticated lieutenant ate pieces of chicken with elegant fingers, then licked them clean with relish; a sight which turned Hannibal’s insides to jelly, as the unbidden thought flashed into his mind of what that tongue was capable of doing to him.  
After lunch they’d showered together, with Hannibal doing all the work of getting them both clean and sand-free, Face laughing with delight as his partner’s exploring fingers managed to find every ticklish spot on his body.   
The laughter had turned to gasps of delight as the bold fingers found more erotic places to touch, to stroke and eventually penetrate, making Face tremble with pleasure.  
Smith had been on fire with passion and they were soon lying on their bed, with Hannibal poised over his lover’s body, kissing his way down the tanned chest, tonguing each nipple until they stood proud, aching for more of that torturing touch. Face’s arms stretched above his head, his limbs spread wide and welcoming, as he gave himself in total surrender to his macho lover’s ministrations.   
Their loving had been sweet and satisfying and afterwards they’d lain closely entwined, Hannibal spooned against his lover’s back, his arms wrapped securely around Face’s chest, his lips touching the soft fair hair on the nape of his partner’s neck.  
Gradually their heartbeats had slowed and their sated bodies relaxed into sleep.

Hannibal came back to the present as the forgotten cigar in his hands started to burn his fingers. He grinned to himself and shook his head, half in exasperation, half in wonderment, at the way the mere sight of his lieutenant could bring instant replay of their most intimate moments.  
He turned from the window as the phone rang, knowing who it would be; he was correct, Murdock was checking in to see if they were okay.  
“We’re both fine Murdock,” he answered the pilot’s query. “Face? Oh he’s lying out there in the sun, sleeping like a baby.”  
Murdock laughed. “Bet he looks just as innocent too?”  
“As always, Captain.” Hannibal paused then asked “Do you want a word with him? I’ll go get him.”  
“No, that’s okay Hannibal. Don’t disturb him, he probably needs the sleep after...after...” The pilot’s voice broke off, and Smith heard him gulp.  
“I know, Murdock, I know,” replied Hannibal softly. “Try not to worry, he really is doing fine.”  
“I do hope so, Hannibal...” was the choked reply.  
“How are you?” Hannibal deliberately changed the subject. “Any progress with Richter?”  
“He seems satisfied,” replied Murdock in a calmer tone.   
“What about you, Captain?”  
There was a pause, then Murdock said. “I’m getting there, Hannibal. Slowly... but I’m getting there.”  
“Good,” declared Hannibal firmly. “Because I worry about you as well, y’know?”  
Murdock actually laughed. “You worry about us all, Hannibal.” He paused, then asked. “Who gets to worry about you?”  
“I can manage that too, Captain,” Hannibal said easily, hoping to put the other man at ease.  
He seemed to have succeeded as the pilot’s voice was noticeably less strained as he said, “Tell Facie I called will ya?”  
“Of course, Murdock. He’ll ring you later...”  
After a few more minutes conversation, they said their farewells and hung up.  
Hannibal sighed inwardly as he replaced the receiver. Murdock worried him, he was afraid this latest secret might be one too many for the pilot to handle. He could only watch and hope and offer his support, knowing in his heart he’d been doing that for more years than he cared to remember.  
Shaking off his sombre mood, he went outside to wake his Sleeping Beauty.

Face drifted slowly up from his dreams at the touch on his back, even half awake he knew that infinitely tender touch.  
Lips smiling he murmured. “Hannibal...”  
“Yes, it’s me lover...” came the soft breath on his skin. “Time to come inside, the sun’s going down.”  
Face choked back a laugh at the innuendo in those words. “Coming inside.. and going down, huh? Sounds like a plan to me,” he murmured.  
“Face! I’m surprised, nay I’m shocked.” Hannibal did actually seem shocked.  
Face turned over. “Don’t tell me that the great, unflappable John Hannibal Smith can be shocked?”  
He lifted a hand, finding his partner’s lips with just the faintest hesitation. “Hmmm, maybe you are. Your mouth is open. Well, I can certainly fix that...” He pulled Hannibal down to him, his tongue sliding into Hannibal’s surprised mouth before the older man could catch his breath at this wanton behaviour, which had been missing for far too long. It was just one of the things Hannibal had missed since Maddox had entered their lives and turned them upside down.   
Face had always been able to surprise him with his sudden aggressive, lust-filled moods, taking control and making Hannibal groan with helpless desire, and besides wanting more of the same, it kept the Colonel on his toes, physically and emotionally.  
“Let’s go inside,” said Hannibal breathlessly as the exploring tongue finally withdrew. He felt as though his lips had been seared by a white hot flame.   
“Why?” demanded Face lazily, running a hand down his partner’s chest, flicking open buttons on its way.   
“Because...because...” Hannibal bit his lip, trying to remember why he wanted to go into the house. “...’cos the sun is going down and it’s gonna get chilly out here...and besides, I think our bed will be a lot more comfortable...”  
“Comfortable maybe,” drawled Face, “daring not at all...”  
“Well, we can soon remedy that, can’t we?” declared Hannibal, sliding his arms under his lover’s knees and round his back to lift him from the swing.  
Face chuckled, his breath warm in Smith’s ear. “Guess so...my macho Colonel.”  
Oh please let me get inside before I burst my pants, thought Hannibal desperately.   
Depositing his eager lover onto the bed, Hannibal lost no time in pulling off the blue shorts and getting rid of his own clothes. Bare skin to bare skin he kissed his way down the front of Face’s body, the younger man now willing to let Hannibal take the initiative, although his fingers were busy tracing patterns on the broad back, urging Hannibal on, although his lover didn’t seem to need any extra encouragement.  
Face groaned as Hannibal’s tongue investigated his naval, his stomach muscles fluttering in anticipation of the delights to come as his commander’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once; cupping and squeezing his swelling genitals; stroking his hips and belly, and Face gasped aloud as the warm digits invaded his most intimate places.   
Hannibal felt his younger lover shiver and muscles tense as his exploring fingers investigated the hot moist opening he desperately wanted to enter. Keeping his touch as light as a butterfly’s wing, his other hand traced his partner’s sensuous lips, and trailed down his chest, his mouth following where his fingers had touched. Face moaned as Hannibal’s hot tongue scorched his flesh and he relaxed totally, giving himself over to whatever his lover wanted to do.   
He wasn’t disappointed, as Hannibal’s hands slid down the outside of his lieutenant’s lean thighs then underneath to lift the limbs, gaining easier access to the entrance of Face’s body, which was now ready and eager to receive him.  
Feeling Face’s legs curl tightly round his waist, Hannibal paused for a second to watch the blond hair spreading across the pillow as his lieutenant’s head twisted to one side, white teeth biting his bottom lip as he tried to contain the explosion building up inside him. His hands were clenched in the folds of the pillow and his torso was shining with the sweat of arousal.  
“Oh Face...I love you..so much,” sighed Hannibal leaning forward to plant a kiss on those perfect lips..  
“I love you too....” Face murmured, then gasped as Hannibal moved forward, his manhood sliding easily between the parted cheeks of those pert buttocks and into Face’s tight passage.  
Face moaned as the invading bulk filled him, then lifted his hips, unashamedly seeking more, but Hannibal held him safe and secure, he wasn’t going to be rushed into hurting his beloved. Rocking gently, taking his time, Hannibal slowly sank deeper into his partner, seeking the spot where momentary pain was turned to immediate pleasure. He wanted to savour this frozen moment in time, when he could be one with his beloved.  
Face lay still, at once understanding that Hannibal wanted to prolong this feeling of togetherness; he also loved this time, caught between one beat of his heart and the next, before their mutual climax forced them back to the world and all its problems.  
Hannibal held his position for as long as he could, but the very erotic nature of their positions and the way their bodies reacted each to the other, soon had his orgasm peaking and he climaxed in a heated surge, flooding his young partner with the seed of his love and desire.  
Face grasped Hannibal’s arms, riding the waves of desire until his own climax shuddered through him, cleansing him yet again of bad memories.  
It was strange, but every time Hannibal made love to him now, and Face felt the hot flood of love pour through him, he felt a little cleaner than before. As though the purity of Hannibal’s love - and even his desire - could wash away all the unwelcome memories that still haunted his nightmares. It wasn’t anything he could put into words, he just felt it deep within that core that was his true self.  
Gasping for breath, Hannibal slid gently free and stretched out beside his partner, feeling bereft as Face’s long legs slipped from around his waist. Lying chest to chest, arms wrapped firmly round each other, they listened to their heartbeats slow to a less demanding pace.   
“Guess the bed is a daring place after all,” murmured Face with a satisfied purr.  
“And much more comfortable than a hammock,” added Hannibal, stroking his lover’s back lovingly.  
“Think we should get up?” asked Face .  
“Mmmm...maybe...I’m comfortable, how about you?”   
“Me? I’m okay...”  
The Colonel drew a finger down his lover’s perfect cheekbone. “Oh, you’re more than okay, Templeton my love. You are stupendous!”  
“I can honestly say the same thing about you, Hannibal.”  
Hannibal grinned. “We aren’t bad, are we, kid?”  
A soft chuckle was his answer, then Face snuggled closer to his lover and closed his eyes.   
Hannibal looked down and smiled gently. He felt like a nap himself...he was pleasantly tired and extremely satisfied.  
“We’ll just have an early night then, huh kid?”  
“Sounds good to me,” was the faint reply from his partner, more than halfway to the Land of Nod.  
Hannibal wondered briefly if he’d shut the door when he’d carried Face inside. He’d been so on fire with sheer lust he couldn’t really remember.   
Swearing slightly to himself he rolled to the side of the bed, but his lover’s arms were reluctant to let him go. Gently disentangling himself, he kissed Face on the brow and whispered. “Just going to lock the doors...”  
“...’kay...” Face responded and let go, knowing that Hannibal would be back.  
The Colonel lost no time in making the house secure and hurrying back to the warmth of the bed and the even warmer flesh of his lover. Walking naked round the house in the chill of the evening, wasn’t to be recommended.  
Snuggling in behind Face, he put his arms round the pliant body of his soul-mate, kissed the nape of his neck and soon followed him into the land of dreams.

Towards dawn, Hannibal stretched lazily, one arm reaching across to his partner’s side of the bed, then sat up abruptly when he realised it was empty of the warm body of his lover. The sheet was cool to his touch, which meant that Face must’ve been gone for some time.  
“Face,” he called, thinking his lieutenant may have gone into the bathroom.  
There was no answer and a sudden chill ran through Smith’s veins.   
“Tem!” he called more sharply, rolling out of the bed.  
Still no reply.  
Hannibal reached the bathroom in quick strides. No light, no sign of his lover.  
Trying not to panic, knowing that on occasions when Face had been unable to sleep, rather than disturb his companion’s rest, he’d get up to sit and listen to his music through the headphones; maybe that was why he couldn’t hear Smith calling.  
Pulling on his discarded shorts, Smith searched the rest of the house, but found no trace of his fair-haired lover.  
“Oh God, where is he?” muttered Smith staring at the silent stereo deck.  
There was no sign that Face had been taken against his will, everything was in place, the front door still locked...the patio window was.... unlocked.  
Running back into the bedroom, Hannibal yanked on a sweater and took a torch and his gun from the bedside table and went outside.  
He shivered, glad of the sweater in the pre-dawn air. Moving to the white-painted fence he shone the torch to search the sand.   
Finding a set of bare footprints, he vaulted the low barrier and set off to track them down. It was starting to get lighter, a pale gleam over the distant mountains heralding the dawn.  
Lifting his head to look ahead, Hannibal’s heart leapt in his throat as he saw the silhouette of someone sitting on the top of a low sand dune, a hundred yards or so to his left, his back to the restless ocean.   
Half running, as he neared the figure, he could make out the faint glimmer of fair hair and recognised the familiar shape of his lieutenant.  
Blowing out a breath of relief, Hannibal was still puzzled as to why Face was out here alone. He knew the younger man could find his way around the house, patio and garden because he’d walked them all with him until they were set in Face’s phenomenal memory, but his lover had rarely ventured outside the fence unless he was with Smith, or one of his other friends.  
Coming up beside the seated figure, Hannibal could see that Face was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a dark blue sweater.   
“Face?”   
“Hannibal,” was the quiet reply.  
“You okay?”  
The fair head nodded slightly.  
“What’re you doing out here all by yourself?”  
“Waiting.”  
Hannibal knelt beside his lieutenant, the sand feeling cold and gritty under his bare knees. He was alarmed. This was unlike any mood he could remember Face having before. So quiet, so resigned...no, not resigned...there was no sense of despair, or even of tension in the slim figure,  
“Waiting for what?”  
“For the sunrise,” was the simple reply.  
“For the....?” Hannibal reached out to turn his lover’s face towards him. “What’d you mean?”  
Face glanced quickly at his commander, then away again. “Just what I said. I don’t want to miss it.”  
A growing sense of relief was flowing through Hannibal...a feeling he hadn’t felt for weeks now. “Face, will you...will you be able to see the sunrise.”  
The fair head nodded slowly, then a hand reached out to grasp Smith’s. “Let’s watch it together, huh?”  
Hannibal grasped the fingers tightly. “Yes...oh yes...Tem. That’s wonderful. You sure?” he couldn’t help asking.  
Face nodded and looked round at Hannibal, his eyes shining with excitement. “Pretty sure. I wasn’t at first... .but the longer I was awake, the stronger it became....” his laugh was half a sob. “Hannibal I can see... not just flashes of white light...I can actually see things...”  
Hannibal stared into the eyes which looked directly at him, and believed the truth. Standing up he flung his arms wide and yelled “Thank you, God!”  
“Amen to that,” said Face softly.  
Hannibal pulled the younger man to his feet and swung him into the air, planting a kiss on the smiling lips, before setting him down again.  
He looked into the sea-green eyes, close enough now to see them aglow with excited joy.   
Face lifted his mouth and kissed Hannibal warmly, then turned round, still in his lover’s arms and leaned back against Smith’s chest, his eyes on the pale pink glow on the crest of the distant hills behind the house.  
Understanding, Hannibal crossed his arms over Face’s sweater-clad chest and rested his chin on the top of the soft fair hair, watching with his soul mate as the sky streaked from pink to a pale aquamarine, then the streaks became wider, the colours gaining in brightness as the top edge of the sun rose majestically over the mountains, a glorious red and orange ball.  
They watched in silence as it grew larger and larger and night turned into day.  
“I don’t think I’ve seen a more beautiful sight,” said Face softly, his hands closing over the larger ones of the man who held him so tenderly.  
“Me neither,” murmured Hannibal, but his eyes had left the glory of the new dawn and were watching his lover’s handsome profile... “just beautiful...” he repeated.   
His heart was so full of relief, joy and thankfulness his voice sounded choked.  
They stood a few minutes longer, the moment so overwhelming neither wanted to move; then the sound of a sea bird’s cry on the freshening wind, broke the spell of stillness, and they turned as one and walked back to the house, hand in hand, like all lovers throughout time, content to be with each other.

Over breakfast, Face told Hannibal what had happened as he got up to go to the bathroom.  
“I woke up and could see vague shapes....I didn’t realise at first, still half asleep...” he glanced over at Hannibal, and added pointedly, “I’d had a very exhausting night.”  
Smith grinned that grin which made Face feel hot and horny, “Me too,” the colonel said, tongue licking his suddenly dry lips.  
Face grinned in return, though his cheeks glowed a warm pink. “Yes, well, anyway...I wanted a drink of water and started to fill a glass...” he hesitated, something about the glass was important, but whatever it was eluded him. Shrugging mentally, he continued, "I was actually filling the glass when I realised I could see it, and the taps, tiles; towels on the rail...” he laughed, throwing a hand out. “I got pretty excited and started to come back and tell you...then...” he paused, a glimmer of an old hurt coming to shadow his sparkling eyes. “Then I remembered the last time I could see and went into the bathroom...” he glanced up at Hannibal, “and when I came out, I was blind again.” He shook his head, hair falling over his brow in a silky tangle. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up too... just in case it didn’t last.”  
Hannibal leaned over the table, all levity leaving his eyes. “Oh Tem, you shouldn’t try to carry everything by yourself. I’m here to help you, I love you, y’know.”  
“I know,” Face smiled at his commander’s earnest expression. “The feeling is most definitely reciprocated.”  
“Well just remember that next time you have a problem - with anything,” said Hannibal with a mock frown, which he couldn’t maintain. He was too grateful to be serious and wanted to shout his love from the rooftop. Instead he opted for the practical.  
“What do you want to do now?” he asked, pouring a second cup of coffee.  
“Everything,” beamed Face. “I want to see Murdock and B.A.’s faces when I tell them; I want to go outside, run along the beach, swim in the ocean... go shopping...” he paused, a secret smile on his lips. “I want to make love to you with my eyes open.”  
Hannibal smiled. “I think I might be able to oblige you on that score.”  
“You’d better,” laughed Face. “Oh Hannibal, isn’t it just great. Apart from everything else, I don’t have to go and see the Pierce brothers again... well,” he thought for a moment, “not as a patient anyway. I’d like to thank them both for their patience.” He gave a half laugh. “I wasn’t very polite, was I?”  
“I think you could say that is a definite NO, you weren’t very polite.” Hannibal replied dryly.  
Face threw a napkin at his colonel, laughing for the sheer joy of just being able to see to do it.  
Hannibal caught the cloth ball in mid air and threw it back, and a mock fight broke out as the two lovers got rid of some of their excess energy before collapsing in a heap on the sofa, where a gentler sort of exercise was initiated by Face and completed by Hannibal.  
When they rose from their passionate embrace, by mutual agreement they showered, dressed and started on the list of things that Face wanted to do.

Epilogue:

Maddox stood in the dock of Court No. 2 and heard the Judge sentence him to a total of thirty five years imprisonment. He’d already been found guilty of various offences including drug trafficking and attempted murder. That bastard Petersen had been able to state before police witnesses that it was Maddox who’d pulled the trigger on him and was still hanging on in the hospital, even though he’d lapsed into a coma from which he wasn’t expected to awaken. Maddox didn’t put much store in that medical opinion; Petersen seemed to have more lives than a cat. His heavy jaw tightened and a red haze filled his vision. All his so-called friends had deserted him, all the bribes and money he’d spent on trying to buy a few members of the jury had fallen flat. That bastard Judge had given him the full sentence.  
He was going to jail, and all because of a gang of mercenaries... that fuckin’ interfering A-Team, had decided to take a hand in bringing him down. All that drug money; all his slave-houses; all his little sidelines gone...  
How that smug, cigar-smoking, superior bastard with the silver hair would gloat if he could see him in this dock. The stupid cops hadn’t been able to find the A-Team, even when Maddox had given them a place to start looking. Marcellino had failed him too; got himself arrested for assault and involved in the killing of his own henchman.  
Maddox stared out over the heads of the crowd, grinding his teeth and feeling the sweat of fear run through his veins like icewater and found his gaze drawn to two men seated at the back of the courtroom. He didn’t recognise them but they seemed very familiar. The bigger man had a shock of black hair and moustache, his eyes hidden by dark glasses; the other one seemed younger and had brown hair and a neat, goatee beard.   
What the hell? Why did they seem familiar?  
Suddenly, Maddox’s jaw dropped open as the two men, almost as though they’d rehearsed the act, removed their glasses and revealed to the gangster their laughing eyes. Maddox had seen both pairs of eyes before, he’d never forget them: the bright blue, sardonic ones belonged to that silver-haired son-of-a-bitch called Smith, who’d been instrumental in bringing him to this point in time. The other pair, a luminous sea-green, belonged to the man who’d infiltrated his organisation as Joey Forbes; the same man he and his associates had raped and beaten within an inch of his life. Incredibly, unbelievingly, it was two of the A-Team that every cop in the city were supposed to be looking for; they were here, witnessing his downfall.  
Maddox spluttered in rage as the younger man deliberately thumbed his elegant nose and waggled his fingers in his direction in the age old gesture of derision and contempt.   
The convicted criminal shot to his feet, pointing and spluttering to his counsel and nearby court officials. “Look it’s them...it’s those sneaky bastards who....look...look...damn you look, it’s those A-Team guys...”  
His rage almost choked him as Smith stood up slowly, grinned at him, then deliberately pointed a finger like the barrel of a gun. The mobster clearly saw the words, “Bang! Gotcha...” on those smiling lips before the two men slid slowly out of the court room, leaving uproar behind as Maddox tried to run after them ....shouting and screaming obscenities at the guards who restrained him.  
Outside, walking sedately down the steps as though he didn’t have a care in the world, Face turned to Hannibal.   
“Did you see his face?” he laughed out loud. “I thought he was gonna burst a blood vessel.” His eyes were sparkling with laughter, his body almost bouncing with joy; he looked and sounded great, thought the older man.  
It had taken some time and a lot of anguish, but Face was free from the fear that the drug baron and his sadistic cronies had instilled in him through beatings and sexual assault of the worst kind. The healing had begun with his lover and his friends’ steadfast loyalty and devotion; they hadn’t let him slip into the abyss of terror which had stalked him in his nightmares.   
The healing had continued with his physical and mental recovery from Petersen’s attacks. Face’s own personal courage whilst alone and helpless in that sadistic monster’s hands, spoke of a resilience of spirit beyond the norm; a deep-rooted strength which had never entirely left him even in his darkest moments.   
Now the last triumph of his returned vision had given Face back his self-confidence and joy of living.  
Seeing Maddox cuffed and restrained in that court, his fat features pale and sweating with fear, had put the final touches to his recovery.   
Face was free; the shadow of Maddox and his henchmen forever gone from his soul.   
Hannibal’s white teeth flashed in a smile that Face recognised all too well; his commander was still on the Jazz.  
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fella,” said the Colonel and laughed.  
The danger of walking into a crowded courtroom, even in disguise, set his blood racing and his thoughts to flow like quicksilver. With Face beside him, marching in step as he always had, always would, their hearts and minds as one, Hannibal knew his happiness was complete.   
Side by side, they started down the sidewalk to where B.A. was waiting with the van.  
Tucking his hand through Hannibal’s arm, Face hugged it briefly to his side as they strolled together in the sunshine of a new day.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

20th December 2001  
(c) T. Roubles

Another Epilogue: 

Stephen Pierce was sitting at his large desk, reading through a patient's notes. Replacing the papers inside the folder, he leaned back in his comfortable chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired, but had wanted to check through his findings once more, before operating the next day.  
His secretary came in from her office and placed a cup of coffee by his elbow.  
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked, smiling at her boss.   
"No thanks, Emma," he smiled back, but the young woman could see how weary the surgeon was.  
"Why don't you go home," she said softly. "You look tired."  
"I am," he admitted. "I'll go up in a few minutes, just want to relax. It's been a busy day."  
"It certainly has," she agreed. "You've seen five extra patients today, and that's on top of your Free Clinic work." She came forward and picked up the folder. "Shall I file this?"  
"Yes, please."  
Pierce watched her a second. "Have there been any other phone calls?"   
Emma shook her dark head. "No sir. Nothing that you don't already know."  
"Oh, right." Pierce slumped further back in his chair and swung his feet onto the edge of his desk.  
Emma knew the signs, he was concerned about something outside his practice.  
"May I ask...are you worried about a patient? One of the vets' families?"  
Pierce shook his head. His secretary had been with him for some time and knew all about his 'special' patients, the ones that didn't get invoices for payment.  
"Not really. Just haven't heard from a particular patient and I was just wondering...."  
He sighed and swung his legs to the floor. "Still, there's nothing I can do about it." He got up and stretched. "Go on home, Emma. I'll be fine."  
"Okay, if you're sure." The secretary started towards her own office, then turned as Pierce asked.  
"Is my brother still here?"  
"Yes, I think so. I heard his last appointment leave about ten minutes ago."  
"Right, thanks"  
"Goodnight."  
"Goodnight, m'dear. See you in the morning."  
Stephen walked slowly to the door connecting his office with that of his brother's, knocked softly and entered.  
Simon was sitting beside the window, staring down into the busy street; the traffic noises didn't filter through the expensive, double-glazed glass, but he could practically feel the frustrated energy in the early evening rush of people to get home.  
"Hi," he said, without turning, knowing it was his brother.  
"Hi back at you," said Stephen in a well-practised greeting between the siblings.  
Simon raised an eyebrow and turned his wheelchair to face the other man. His brother looked tired and stressed.  
"What's up, Doc?" he asked with a grin.  
Stephen gave a tired smile and shrugged. "Nothing really, just a bit tired, that's all."  
"Stephen!" Simon said warningly. "How many times have I told you...."  
"Yeah...I know...I can't fool my psychiatrist brother."   
"Well?"  
The older brother shrugged. "Did you see the paper yesterday?"  
"Yes. Anything in particular?" Simon had an inkling what Stephen meant, but he wanted to hear what his brother had to say.  
"Yes. The trial of that man...Maddox."  
"Ah," Simon nodded. "He got his just desserts from what I can tell."  
Stephen snorted. "That's an understatement. That man is a monster. What he did to..." He broke off and gave a sheepish smile.  
Simon smiled back and nodded his understanding. "Got under your skin, didn't he?"  
"Maddox?" The surgeon asked, deliberately misunderstanding.  
The psychiatrist snorted. "No, I don't mean Maddox. I mean that frustrating young man, name of Peck. He's a challenge and no mistake."  
"You too?" Stephen gave a short laugh. "I wanted to box his ears and give him a hug, all at the same time."  
The wheelchair-bound man nodded sadly. "He's carrying a lot of baggage, from a long time ago as well as recent events."  
His brother sighed in agreement. Neither of them would ever divulge specific confidential information about a patient to anyone else, but they often conferred with each other about patients they were worried about with both physical and psychological problems.  
"I just wish we knew what had happened to them. I wanted Peck to come back for more tests... although I can't see anything new turning up. His blindness is a real puzzle."  
Simon moved over to his brother who had seated himself on the corner of the big desk. "I don't think it's physical at all, Stephen. Something scared that young man so badly he didn't want to see anything else happening to him, or his friends."  
Stephen nodded slowly. He respected his brother's diagnosis even though he didn't always understand it.  
"It's a good job he has Smith standing beside him," he said swinging his foot absently.  
Simon smiled. "One dangerous, complicated, man, wouldn’t want him as an enemy, but he protects his own."  
"His own what, though?" questioned the surgeon.  
Simon shrugged. "None of our business brother. It seems to work for them, that's all that counts."  
"I know, I felt that too.” He paused, then went on. “It's dangerous, for them both. They are way too vulnerable trying to take care of a sightless man while they're on the run from the military."  
"Maybe. But can you see anyone trying to stop Smith when he sets his mind on anything?"  
Stephen gave a bark of laughter. "Not me, for a start. I'm not a fool."  
Simon nodded his agreement. "That is one tough hombre." He paused. "I wish they'd come back. I think I almost got it when they were here. I could almost touch what was bothering young Peck, but..." He pushed a hand through his greying hair. "So frustrating."  
Stephen got up and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know exactly how you feel." He tried to be cheerful. "I think they will come back when, and if they can. Smith can be very persuasive, so I'm told. If he can, he'll bring his lieutenant back here."  
"I think you're right." He patted the other man's hand lying on his shoulder and turned his wheelchair. "I think we should go home."  
Stephen nodded and walked beside the chair. "You gonna come up for dinner?"  
The psychiatrist had an apartment on the floor below his.  
"Yes. Don't feel like cooking, or going out to a restaurant."  
Stephen laughed. "You just like my cooking."  
"No. I like your Marion's cooking."  
"Yeah. She sure knows how to make a tasty casserole," replied his brother, thinking of his housekeeper-cum-cook. "I'll expect you around eight?"  
"Sure."  
The two brothers left their suite of offices, locking doors behind them and headed for the private elevator which would take them to their apartments.

Two days later Stephen Pierce entered his office in the early morning. He wanted to get a start on his patient list, and there were some lab reports he needed to check first.  
He dropped his briefcase onto his desk and headed for the coffee percolator, needing his usual two cups before starting work.  
As he stirred the black liquid swirling in his cup, he thought he heard a sound from the outer office, and frowned. Emma was early, she really must be able to read his mind, he thought with an inner grin   
Smiling, Stephen took a drink of his coffee and turned to walk to his desk.  
The cup tilted in his hand and he almost dropped it as he saw two men standing in the middle of the room.  
“What-the-hell...?” He began, then stopped, as he recognised the intruders.  
“Hi Doc,” came Smith’s cheerful and well remembered voice. “How’re you doing?”  
“Having a coronary,” snapped Pierce, letting his breath go in a sigh of relief.  
“Oh? Sorry to hear that. It’s good job you’re in the right place, then, isn’t it?” came the irrepressible reply.  
“Smith. What the hell are you doing here?” Pierce placed the cup on his desk and came forward, hand outstretched in greeting, then his eyes went to the second, smaller man, standing just behind Smith.   
“I thought you wanted us to come back,” was the teasing answer.  
“I did.”  
Ignoring the Colonel’s banter, Pierce moved past him to greet the fair-haired man who’d featured so recently in his thoughts. “Good Morning Lieutenant, I’m so glad to...”   
He’d meant to guide Peck to a chair, but stopped short as a pair of laughter-filled, sea-green eyes met his.  
“Good mornin’ to you, too Doc.” Peck’s voice was filled with the same teasing note as his commander’s.  
Pierce stared, then a smile grew on his lean face as he realised why the other two men were so happy. “You can see,” he said, hands reaching out to grasp Peck’s.   
“Yep.” Peck gripped his hands. “I...we... just wanted to come back and let you know, and to say ‘thanks’.”  
“If any thanks were necessary, seeing those eyes of yours sparkle, is all I would need.”   
Pierce’s faint blush was mirrored in the younger man’s suntanned cheeks. He was a bit surprised himself at his choice of words. He didn’t usually use such ‘flowery’ phrases, but with this young man they seemed entirely normal.  
Smith smiled quietly, being used to the effect his partner had on most people and spoke up.  
“Nevertheless, we wanted to thank you in person and tell you that if you ever need anything that we can do, you just have to ask.”  
Peirce nodded thoughtfully, recognizing the sincerity behind the almost casual comment. “I’ll do that,” he replied.  
“That goes for your brother as well,” put in Peck.  
“I’ll be sure and tell him. Can you stay for a while, he shouldn’t be long? He’ll be as pleased as I am to see you both.”  
Exchanging a quick glance with his partner, and receiving an almost imperceptible nod, Smith said. “We’ll see how it goes. Depends, y’know,” he waved a hand towards the world outside the window.  
“Yes, I understand, but please, sit down and tell me what happened?”  
“Is that coffee I smell?” asked Smith.  
“Yes, of course. Do help yourselves.”  
Face moved forward and busied himself pouring two cups of the aromatic brew for himself and Hannibal, then returned to sit beside Smith, who had made himself comfortable in one of the chairs around the small coffee table to one side of the executive-sized desk.  
The surgeon had seated himself facing Smith and was sipping his own coffee.   
There was silence for a few moments, then Pierce said. “I read in the newspaper about that man Maddox’s trial. Glad to see him put away for his crimes.”  
A faint shadow crossed the Colonel’s clear blue eyes, then was gone. A grin crinkled the corners of his lips at the same time a soft chuckle came from Peck.  
“We were there. You should’ve seen his face when he realised we were in the courtroom,” Hannibal laughed in remembered delight.  
Pierce smiled, then a faint frown crossed his features. “Wasn’t that a bit risky?”  
Smith leaned back and nodded agreeably. “Probably. But it was worth it.”   
He glanced sideways at his partner and they exchanged a look that Pierce didn’t immediately understand, then he realised. Some sort of therapy he guessed.  
“Can you tell me what happened to make your sight return?” He asked, changing the subject.   
Peck shook his head slowly. “There wasn’t anything specific, Doc. No blow to the head and then - Wow, I can see, sort of thing.”  
Pierce frowned. “Nothing at all. No particular moment of stress, or the lifting of any stress?”  
The blond head again shook a negative. “Bit of a mystery, I’m afraid Doc.” He glanced across at his commander, who nodded in agreement.  
“Even after we had rounded up Maddox and all his cronies, and we were all safe, his sight didn’t come back immediately.”  
Pierce shook his head in bewilderment. “Then I’d love to know what caused it and how it was cured.”  
“Well, I’m a bit curious myself, but I’m just glad that it turned out the way it did,” said Peck with a slight grin.   
Pierce hesitated. “I know you don’t have a lot of time, but would you let me examine you again. Check the results against the previous ones?”  
He saw the hesitation in the younger man’s eyes, and added. “I’m always looking for ways of furthering my knowledge so that I can help my patients. Your case is a real puzzle, and if I can find out the why and how.... I could help others who may be in the same predicament.”  
Peck looked across at Smith, and that same wordless conversation ensued that so frustrated and fascinated onlookers, which at the moment, numbered only Pierce.  
Finally, Peck put his cup down on the glass-topped coffee table and sighed. “Can’t say I’m thrilled about it, Doc, but okay.”  
Pierce almost knocked over the table in his eagerness to get to his feet, and Face had to laugh, although it sounded rueful.  
“Easy, Doc. We don’t want any accidents.”  
Stephen flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered.   
Smith’s quiet chuckle sounded relaxed. “Afraid he’s gonna change his mind, huh Doc?”  
“Absolutely,” was the fervent reply.  
It was the work of only a few minutes to set up the equipment the surgeon wanted, realising he wouldn’t have time to run the full check he’d done before, he wanted to check the lieutenant’s eyes, blood pressure and vital organ functions, to see if any simple changes had occurred that might indicate a reason for the ‘cure’. He was also hoping to be able to run the brain scan, but remembering Peck’s aversion to that particular, instrument he didn’t hold out much hope.  
So it was a complete surprise that when he mentioned he’d like to run the test, Peck sighed heavily, but agreed.   
Pierce marvelled at the complete transformation of his patient’s former manner and mood, and wished he could bottle it for future use with difficult patients.   
Of course, there was much less pressure on the lieutenant now. He could see what was being done and didn’t have the added fear of what the examination might turn up.  
He did notice that Smith was never very far from his partner’s side while he put the younger man through the set of tests, and could only guess at what the trauma of his lover’s vulnerable state had done to Smith, emotionally and physically.  
Finished at last, he told Peck that he could get up from the examining couch, and switched off the machines while Face buttoned his shirt and replaced the jacket he’d removed before they’d started.  
His complexion was paler than when he’d arrived, and Smith put a comforting arm round his shoulders. Face leaned into him for a second, then smiled and straightened up, giving a nod to indicate he was okay.  
Smith smiled back and put a fresh cup of coffee into his hand. He knew how much Face hated physical examinations of any kind, but also knew it was Face’s way of showing his regret at his earlier attitude.  
Pierce reluctantly put down the sheets of paper and came to stand beside his visitors. “Thank you, Mr. Peck. I know that wasn’t pleasant for you.”  
Face shrugged. “Had worse,” he said flippantly.  
I’m sure you have, thought the surgeon sympathetically, recalling the stark facts in Peck’s medical notes.  
Before he could say anything else, Face lifted a hand and turned wordlessly to Smith, who frowned slightly, then nodded as he too caught the faint noise from the other room.  
“That’s either your brother arriving, or he has burglars,” Hannibal said, rising to his feet.  
Pierce looked his surprise, he hadn’t heard anything at all, then remembered what Simon had told him of Peck’s exceptional hearing.  
He glanced at his plain gold wristwatch, and nodded. “That’ll be him,” he confirmed. “Shall I call him, or do you want to scare the hell outta him too?”  
Face grinned slightly as Smith chuckled. “Don't want to give him a heart attack, but we will go through and see him, if you don’t mind.”  
“Not at all. Come back if you can. I’ll be pleased to see you at any time, hopefully on a more social level,” the surgeon shook Smith’s hand.  
“Will do, Doc, and thanks, for everything.” Hannibal returned the pressure.  
Pierce held out his hand to Face, who shook it firmly. “Thanks Doctor Pierce,” he said simply, “I’d like to apologise for my behaviour on our earlier visit. I’m not usually so rude.”  
Stephen put his left hand on Face’s shoulder and squeezed it gently as he said softly. “You had a lot on your mind,” then added, “and you weren’t that rude,” he grinned. “I’ve known worse.”   
“Glad to hear that,” Face laughed, then his features relaxed into a warm smile, quite unlike any that Pierce had seen so far.  
The surgeon then knew what Maggie had meant when she’d told him how this young man made a person feel when he smiled a certain way. It lit up the whole room and he felt privileged to be on the receiving end.  
“Take care, Lieutenant, you too Colonel.”  
“We will, Doc.”   
Then they seemed to melt away towards the inner door and a few seconds later, the surgeon was alone, but he was smiling and felt as though the day had got off to a very good start.

Simon Pierce was also at his coffee percolator when Smith and Peck silently entered his office through the connecting door they’d used on their first visit.  
“What is this thing with coffee the Pierce brothers have?” Smith wondered aloud, making sure that the man in the wheelchair wasn’t in danger of being scalded, before he spoke.  
The big shoulders tensed, then slowly the stocky psychiatrist turned his chair to face his visitors.  
“What is this thing that Special Forces Colonels have of giving respectable citizens heart attacks so early in the morning?”  
The voice held only mild interest and Smith gave the other man top marks for unflappability.  
“Beats me,” he replied with a flash of white teeth.  
“Good Morning Colonel,” said Simon pushing forward to take the other man’s hand in a firm grip.  
“’Morning Simon,” Smith said then added, “Just dropped in to see how you were doing?”  
“I’m doing fine, what’s more to the point, how are you and your young friend...?”  
“He’s fine too,” said Face, coming further into the room. For some strange reason he’d wanted to be able to see the other man first, before the crippled man could see him. He was a little startled to find his mental picture of the psychiatrist had been very accurate; he would’ve been able to pick him out of a crowd, even without hearing his voice.  
Simon stared in astonishment as the slim, blond, young man came out from behind the screen.  
He stared up into sea-green eyes that were alive and sparkling with energy and delight in being able to - see!  
“Mr. Peck! You don’t know how glad I am to see you looking so well.” The psychiatrist’s voice almost boomed with his delight.  
Face flushed. He felt a little awkward. A lot had happened to him in this room, some of which was still only vaguely coming back to him. He did remember, however, how this man had forced him to come to terms with his lack of sight, and how he’d resisted all of Pierce’s attempts to help him, until his collapse and ultimate surrender to his blocked memories.  
“Thank you, sir,” he said, holding out his hand, which was grasped very firmly and then shaken vigorously.  
The little tableau held for a few more seconds, then as Smith cleared his throat, Face turned to grin at his commander.  
Simon let go the hand he was still holding and wheeled himself to his desk. “I think something stronger than coffee is indicated, but it’s a bit too early. Would you mind, Colonel?” he asked waving a hand to the table which held the percolator.  
“I’ll get it, Hannibal,” said Face moving forward, wondering with an inward sigh, when he had become the coffee-boy.  
“I take it, this is a social visit?” Simon asked a trifle suspiciously.  
“Sir, you wound me,” said Smith with affronted dignity, as he seated himself on the other side of the large desk.  
Pierce ignored that comment. “Well,” he demanded, as Face placed the steaming cup of black liquid on his spotless blotter, and sat down beside his commander, “aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” He picked up the cup and took a long drink, spluttering as the liquid burned his mouth.  
“Er...I was just going to say that the coffee was hot,” said Face, deadpan.  
The glare that was turned on him was worthy of Smith when the Colonel had just realised that he’d forgotten BA’s nighty-night drink, but his answering smile was unrepentant.  
“A bit late, but thanks for that,” Simon said, wiping his mouth with the napkin Face handed to him.  
The three men sat looking at each other for long minutes, then Pierce threw back his greying head and laughed heartily, with Smith and Peck joining in, as the momentary awkwardness faded away.  
“I’m so glad to see both of you. Stephen and I were becoming a little concerned not hearing from you,” Pierce said, taking another more cautious sip of the coffee.  
“Well, there were times during the past few weeks, when your concern would’ve been justified,” said Hannibal, taking out a cigar.  
Pierce watched with interest as Face reached into his jacket pocket, and with what looked like awell-practised routine, produced a gold lighter and lit his commander’s cigar before replacing it, all without a word being spoken.  
“Hm, I see that you’ve taken up smoking again,” he murmured, his grey eyes watchful from behind the rim of the coffee cup.  
Smith regarded the glowing tip of the cigar and nodded thoughtfully, while Face looked his bewilderment.   
“I didn’t know you’d given up smoking, Hannibal?” He grinned. “Must have been a short abstinence.”  
Hannibal smiled and nodded. “It was, just long enough though.” He and the psychiatrist shared an understanding look before he changed the subject.  
“We both wanted to come back and thank you for all your help...”  
“And to apologise for my rudeness,” put in Peck.  
Pierce waved a hand. “No need for apologies, I’ve had ruder patients, believe me. As for thanking me, you did all the work yourself. I’m just so pleased that you seem well again.”  
Face nodded, answering the faint question in the psychiatrist’s tone. “Oh yes. I am, VERY well, thank you.”  
“What happened? How did your sight return?”  
Face smiled across at Smith and the Colonel gave a huge sigh. “That’s the sixty-five thousand dollar question Simon, and we just don’t know. Stephen wanted to know the same thing.”  
“I bet he did,” murmured the man behind the desk. “If you can talk about it, I’d be very interested to know what’s been happening,” he added.   
He recalled how difficult it had been for Face to tall him anything at all, and what he had, had been dragged out of him.  
Face rubbed his brow, marshalling his thoughts. He owed the psychiatrist some sort of explanation, out of courtesy at least. He also knew that Pierce had made him think about things he hadn’t wanted to think about, and so ultimately had paved the way to his eventual acceptance of his condition and so allow him to carry on with his life. Of course, without Hannibal beside him, and Murdock and BA in close support, Face knew he wouldn’t be here now. He did, however, owe the Pierce brothers for their kindness and skill in pointing out the right road.   
“I’d love to be able to pinpoint an actual event and say ‘that’ brought my sight back,” Face said at last, “but I can’t. Even after things had calmed down and we escaped from Petersen, then Maddox, then Marcellino...I fully expected to wake up and be able to see.”  
He didn’t notice the psychistrist’s eyes widen as he listed the bad guys the Team had overcome, until a spluttering sound came from the behind the desk.  
“Just how many criminals did you have to contend with?” Simon asked.  
“What?” Face glanced up, puzzled. “Oh, I see. Just those three.”  
“...and all their cronies and musclemen, of course,” put in Smith, enjoying the look on Pierce’s face.  
“Of course,” muttered Pierce, talking another gulp of his cooling coffee. “Please go on, lieutenant... sorry to interrupt.”  
“Well... there’s nothing really I can tell you,” said Face. “I thought when things quietened down, my sight would just come back, y’know, all the tension and stress gone, but it didn’t.”  
He lowered his head to stare at his hands which were twisting into knots in his lap.   
Smith reached across from his chair and placed a hand over them, squeezing gently until his partner’s fingers relaxed.   
“These things you mention, what kind of things?” asked Simon quietly.  
“The usual, fighting and shooting and falling into lakes, places on fire...and not being able to see to get out....”  
Face stopped abruptly, not realising he’d had so much bottled up.  
“And...?”  
“And being drugged and probably assaulted, although I don’t remember much about that.” Face’s voice sounded tired.  
Simon sat forward, all levity gone from his features....  
“...and Maddox shooting Petersen when I wanted to kill the bastard myself,” Smith said in a soft, deadly whisper.  
Face gripped Hannibal’s hand fiercely. “I know Hannibal,” he said softly, as though they were alone in the room.  
Pierce almost held his breath. He had two patients here, and neither of them seemed to realise they still needed help to come to terms with everything that had happened.  
“Then, just when we thought we were safe, those damn kids, threatening you with that knife and that coke-snorting sonofabitch cut you....”  
Smith’s voice was hoarse in remembered horror.  
Face was now kneeling beside Smith’s chair, holding his hands, speaking soothingly. “It’s okay Hannibal, that’s over now.... they didn’t hurt me.”  
Smith’s eyes seemed to clear suddenly and he looked at the face so close to him, that dear face belonging to the man he loved beyond life itself and he pulled the slighter man to him and hugged him to his chest, as though he would never let go.  
Face let himself be hugged, even though he was sprawled uncomfortably across the arm of the chair, and waited for the storm raging inside his partner to fade. He sensed it, as he sensed so many things about this man he loved, and gradually drew back as Hannibal loosened his grip.  
He smiled up into the sapphire blue eyes, and nodded slightly.  
Hannibal kissed the tip of his nose and smiled back.  
As though remembering where they were, Face resumed his seat, cheeks reddening, but when he felt able to raise his eyes to look at Pierce, the psychiatrist was absorbed in reading through a file on his desk.  
Simon Pierce had witnessed many things in this office, all the highs and lows of human emotions, but he’d never seen a display of such sheer, unadulterated love, as the one he’d just seen. He was beginning to understand that the relationship between these two men wasn’t one-sided, with the older man protecting his younger companion at all times. Pierce had suspected that Peck was a much stronger individual than he looked, but now knew that he was much stronger than he’d first thought.   
Peck, too, was a protector of all he loved, and the psychiatrist was convinced now that these two men would not only survive, but prosper and grow together.  
They still had problems, which might never be resolved, but that wasn’t the issue right now. He only hoped that the two men had got rid of some of the guilt, they both seemed to be carrying.  
He’d been pleased to see that Peck hadn’t turned a hair when Smith started to smoke the cigar, so that was one less hurdle to jump.  
Peck had spoken openly about his being drugged and ‘probably assaulted’. Pierce swallowed the emotion rising in his own throat as he wondered what the blond man had suffered and what really lay behind those few stark words. Yet, the fact that he had offered that small bit of information was encouraging to the psychiatrist. How he wished he could help lay all the ghosts these two men carried between them, but knew it was impossible, he would need a lifetime or two just to begin to understand.   
Risking a glance over the top of the file, he found two pairs of eyes watching him, calm and steady, yet with a tinge of amusement in their depths.  
“You seem to have had a very exciting time, lieutenant, both of you,” he managed to say, closing the file.   
“Yeah, well that sort of goes with the territory, or some of it at least,” Smith glanced at his partner. “Most of the time, it doesn’t get quite that rough.”  
Peck’s fair head nodded agreement, “Not all at the same time, at any rate.” Then he glanced at his wristwatch. “We should go soon, Hannibal. We have to pick our Captain up in an hour.”  
“Oh!” Pierce was sincerely sorry to hear that. “I hoped we could have a longer visit, you still haven’t told me....”  
Face shrugged gracefully. “As I started to tell you, my vision didn’t come back even after all the thugs were rounded up. It was weeks later, when Hannibal and I were at the beach that I woke up to go to the bathroom and realised I could actually ‘see’ the room.”  
He smiled that radiant smile and Simon echoed his brother’s thoughts that it was a beautiful sight and seemed to make the younger man glow.  
“That must’ve been....” Pierce stopped. “Actually, I don’t know how it must’ve been,” he apologised.  
“Believe me, Doc... it can’t be described.”   
“And you haven’t had any recurrence since then?” queried the psychiatrist.  
Peck knocked on the polished wood of the desk. “Not so far,” he said.  
“Well, if it has lasted more than a couple of days, the odds are that the blindness won’t come back, especially as you seem to have got rid of some of your inner demons as well.”  
“You still think that this was all in my head, don’t you?” asked Peck with a small frown.  
“Not exactly, lieutenant. But something happened; not only physically, but emotionally, mentally, whatever it was, or a combination of all three, resulted in you losing the ability to see. I think it had something to do with seeing Maddox at the restaurant, something he did, or said, something you couldn’t bear to think about...something you didn’t want to see, so,” he waved a large hand, “you stopped seeing.”  
Smith frowned. “That seems very simplistic,” he argued.  
“A lot of emotional/psychological problems seem that way, but they all go much deeper.”  
“But,” Face frowned, “if that was the case, why didn’t my sight come back after we caught Maddox?”  
Pierce shrugged. “If I knew that, I could open my doors and advertise miracle cures.” He paused. “Every one of us is an individual, we will all react to the same situation in different ways. I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers. Hell,” he grinned suddenly. “I don’t know all the questions to ask either.”   
“Well, you sure have enough, as far as I’m concerned,” said Peck with a laugh.  
“I can second that,” said Hannibal, getting to his feet.  
Peck rose too and walked round the desk. “I’d like to thank you Doctor Pierce, for everything you did to help me. I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand every word you said to me, but I appreciate that you said them.”  
Pierce held his hand, gazing up into those sparkling ocean-coloured eyes and said simply. “It was a pleasure to meet such a brave young man, Mr. Peck...and no thanks are necessary.”  
“Face.”  
“I beg your pardon,” Simon was puzzled.  
“My name is Face, or Tem. ‘Mr. Peck’ sounds much too cold, between friends?” He tilted his head questioningly.  
“Yes, Face... that sounds much warmer.” Simon smiled and pulled the blond head down to whisper in his ear. “You have a good man there, see you take care of each other.”  
Face blushed scarlet, but his eyes didn’t waver as he put his arms round the crippled man’s shoulders and gave him a brief hug. “I know.... and we will,” he whispered back.  
He stepped aside so that Hannibal could make his own farewell.  
“Thanks, Simon,” he said simply.   
“You are very welcome, Hannibal...” Pierce grinned as the other man’s hand tightened round his own.  
“Take care of Face there, and let him take care of you too,” he said softly. Then louder. “Well, you’d better get out of my office, I have work to do.”  
Smith laughed. “Okay. See you around some time, Doc.”  
“I’ll hold you to that. Come and see us when you can. My brother’s housekeeper makes a mean casserole. You, and your friends, would be more than welcome.”  
“She’d have to make enough for ten if BA comes with us,” smiled Face.  
“She would cope.... I’d marry her, if she didn’t already have a husband.”  
“Ooops.”   
“I can see how that might be a problem.”   
Face and Hannibal spoke together, and then grinned at each other.  
“Bye Colonel, and Lieutenant. Have a good life...”  
“You too, Doctor.... see ya.”  
Then they were gone as quickly and as silently as they’d entered, and left Simon wondering at how the room seemed much larger, and cooler.  
Outside the building, Face and Hannibal stood for a few minutes on the sidewalk. They’d parked the Corvette a couple of blocks away and started to walk towards the underground garage.  
“Good men, those brothers,” said Face suddenly.  
“Yeah. Pity there weren’t more like them in the world.”  
Face patted Hannibal’s arm. “There are a few out there Hannibal, we’ve met quite a lot of them.”  
“I know, kid. Kind of balances scumballs like Maddox and Petersen.”  
“Well, there’ll always be some of those around for us to root out.”  
Hannibal smiled gently. “Not those two in particular...not for many, many years.”  
“Yeah.” Face grinned back, “that’s a cheerful thought.”  
They walked in silence for a few more yards, then Face asked. “Do you think us going back to see the Pierce brothers helped any?”  
“Us, or them?” grinned Hannibal.  
“Both!”  
Hannibal frowned. “I don’t know. I didn’t intend to say anything at all, which goes to show how good a psychiatrist Simon is.”  
“Or maybe, you had to say those things? Even without a psychiatrist?”  
Smith shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe. Don't think we’ll know whether it helped or not, for some time. Maybe it will just fade away, like a bad dream.”  
“Do you...” Face hesitated, glancing round as they entered the deserted floor of the garage. “Do you still have those bad dreams, Hannibal?”  
“Only when you’re not lying right there beside me,” Hannibal hooked his lover closer and kissed his ear. “You?”  
Knowing when he was being distracted, and that Hannibal didn’t want to talk about his feelings any more, Face allowed the embrace, and answered the question.  
“Only when you’re not lying beside me, in me, making love to me...”   
“Oh really?” Smith’s grin was pure lechery. “Let’s go home and I’ll chase those bad dreams away.”  
“Love too, lover.. .BUT,” Face wriggled out from under the bigger man’s arm and slid into the driving seat of the car. “We have to go get Murdock.”  
“Faaaace....” protested Hannibal, standing with his hands on the car door.  
“Well, the sooner we go get him, and BA, the sooner we can get to the lake, and the sooner we can....” Face wriggled his eyebrows enticingly.  
“Way ahead of you, Lieutenant.” Smith hurried round to the passenger seat and sat down, one hand reaching to run up his partner’s thigh. “Let’s go...”  
Face laughed aloud in the sheer joy of being with the one person he could spend eternity with and not get bored... and drove out into the sunshine.

The End

(c) T. Roubles   
6th March 2003


End file.
